The Mentalist: Red Devils
by Donnamour1969
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! Journey back in time to "The Crimson Hat," 4x24. Now forget what happened in that episode, because this is revisionist history. Imagine Lisbon is in on Jane's plot to trick Red John and Lorelei in Las Vegas. How might that have changed their paths, both to true love and to Red John? Romance/Drama/Humor/Jisbon. Rated T/M for language and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's so nice to have the inspiration (thanks to Hope over on Twitter) to return to my favorite fandom. Some personal projects have fallen through, I've visited other fandoms, and life has certainly happened, but here I am back again, and I hope you will indulge me with this rewrite of the events of 4x24, "The Crimson Hat." I know it must have been Lisbon's hurt and stubbornness that kept her from tracking down Jane when he faked his breakdown and left for Las Vegas for six months, but how might things have been different if she'd really tried to find him? This fic attempts to answer that question. It begins about two weeks before the events of 4x24, then goes AU after that. The title, by the way, is from a poem by Stephen Crane.

 **Red Devils**

 **Chapter 1**

It had taken Teresa Lisbon five and a half months to track down Patrick Jane. She'd called in favors and imposed on friendships in California, in the states immediately surrounding, and beyond. She knew through her federal contacts that he hadn't left the country, and she also knew his antique monstrosity of a car couldn't have made it very far anyway. But he had hidden his tracks well, and he might have even been able to hide effectively in California. But apparently he'd made it as far as Las Vegas.

In the first months after he left, she'd been angry. When that had led to denial and sadness, she'd known she was well into the stages of grief. She had lost her best friend, for want of a better description of their crazy relationship. She was also in love with him, but that was beside the point. He obviously didn't feel the same way, given how he'd left without really saying goodbye.

He hadn't answered any of his texts or messages, and a surreptitious check of his phone and credit card accounts yielded nothing. He'd simply turned off his phone, stopped using his cards, and cleaned out his bank accounts before he left-at least those that she'd known of. But an off-duty police officer who moonlighted as a casino security guard had recognized Jane and called Lisbon. She'd met the guy at a law enforcement conference in Vegas years before, and after one tequila induced night together, they'd remained friends. So now she knew that Jane had been working the Vegas scene, gambling a lot and dabbling once more into the fake psychic game.

Two days later, Lisbon had secured two weeks of vacation (much to the surprise of her team and Wainright) bought her ticket to Vegas, and rented a car for as soon as she arrived. They weren't in the middle of any cases, so she didn't feel that guilty about leaving the CBI in the lurch, but she did feel guilty when she didn't share the news of Jane's whereabouts with her trusted friends. This, she thought, was between her and Jane alone.

She couldn't meet Cho's eyes when she informed the team, but she saw his raised, knowing eyebrow. He was her second in command, and she knew she left the position in more than competent hands.

"Tell Jane hi," muttered Cho, that last day of work before she left. He'd poured his coffee in the break room and left her staring after him, slack-jawed. She shook her head and grinned, then took her own coffee back to her desk.

The first thing she did upon arrival at the McCarran International Airport in Vegas was to stop in the restroom and remove a nondescript, pale blonde wig and big sunglasses from her carryon bag. Before she approached Jane, she needed to know the lay of the land. Was he in trouble? Would he be unhappy to see her? She'd disguise herself and observe him for a day or two before she confronted him and unleashed all her anger and frustration with her hardest right-hook. Just the thought of that drew her mouth into a straight, determined line.

"You are so gonna get it, buster," she muttered, stuffing her dark hair beneath the wig. She thought she looked completely unrecognizable when the sunglasses came on, and she'd purposefully worn a sundress—a radical departure from her usual slacks and serviceable blouse. With a satisfied nod at her unfamiliar reflection, she pulled her small, wheeled bag behind her on the way to the car rental counter.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane held the locket of Oscar's mother in his hand like a talisman. Of the myriad reasons to hate being on the lam, faking psychic powers again was probably the second worst part about his ruse to fool Red John—third would be the daily hangovers. He tried to comfort himself with the notion that Oscar was no doubt a mobster of some kind, but it still left a bad taste that was even worse than morning cotton mouth. He sat at the edge of the white leather couch in Oscar's penthouse suite and closed his eyes.

"I'm here, Oskie," said Jane, pretending to speak for his late mother. "You know I love you. I never would have left you if I could have helped it. But I'm proud of you, Oskie. I have been watching over you all your life. I love you, my beautiful boy…"

Ten minutes later, Oscar paid him the agreed upon ten thousand dollars and Jane left the man with tears in his eyes. As he rode down in the elevator, he braved a look at himself in the mirrored walls. Bloodshot eyes stared blearily back at him. His hair was long and scraggly, his face gaunt and dark with three days' worth of stubble. He knew he must stink of cheap whiskey and sweat, but he was flush now, and could continue his show of personal destruction by gambling it all away at the blackjack tables.

It sickened Jane how easy it had been to fall back into the conman role again. But he had to seem desperate for cash, for liquor, desperate in every way if he were to convince Red John that he had given up on everything good in his life, given up on vengeance. Given up Lisbon.

The thought of her made his heart squeeze a little in his chest. That was the very worst part about vengeance: it took you away from everything else you cared about. Every _one_. He averted his eyes from his own abhorrent reflection and watched the digital countdown of the rapidly passing floors.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane walked across the street to his favorite casino, cashed in five thousand dollars for chips, and settled himself at a promising blackjack table. He would win a few hands, as usual, then gradually make his luck seem to run out, drinking steadily until he'd lost everything. That last bit would ensure the security cameras would either miss or ignore his cheating; they weren't going to make an issue of it when he'd just lost five grand to the House.

A passing waitress stopped at the table to take his drink order. He looked up at her, giving his most charming grin to the beautiful brunette with the enticing cleavage directly in his seated line of sight. Staying in character, he didn't hide his appreciative appraisal, but when he looked more closely at her face he was momentarily taken aback, his smile frozen for the briefest of moments. Something about her reminded him of Lisbon. The waitress didn't have Lisbon's stunning green eyes, but the two women shared a similar fey quality, and her dark hair added to the momentary illusion.

Shaken, he ordered a scotch. "And keep 'em coming, sweetheart," he added, tossing in a few chips to the pot after he peaked at his latest hand.

"Sure thing," she said, amusement in her tone. Her voice was throaty in a way that would ensure the biggest tips from the men. Well, along with the sexy red and black waitress outfit she wore.

She returned soon with his drink, and by then he had composed himself again.

"Thank you," he said, downing half the glass immediately.

"I'm Lorelei, if you need anything else," she said with a beautiful smile of her own.

"I'm sure I will," he replied wryly, toasting her a little before she chuckled softly and left him.

That laugh of hers made the hairs on the back of his neck stand in awareness, and he found himself paying half of his attention to her as she moved smoothly about the floor, taking and bringing drink orders at the other tables and at the nearby slot machines. His sixth sense had kicked in, and his heart picked up speed in speculation.

Could she be a minion of Red John? The similarity to Lisbon would be a nice touch, he thought, and what better way for the serial killer to make initial contact than through a beautiful woman, especially in what Jane hoped appeared his most vulnerable state. Lorelei must have felt his gaze upon her, for she looked up from her current customer and met his eyes a table away. He hid his fascination by holding up his glass so she could see it was empty.

She would bear watching, this one, and of course he would need more than gut instinct this time. It hadn't been long ago that he'd shot the wrong Red John, and because of that, he'd lost a little faith in his instincts where the killer was concerned.

 _Play it cool, Jane,_ he said to himself.

He nodded to the dealer to hit him with another card, even though he had a king showing and a ten of hearts face down on the table. He made a great show of annoyance when he was dealt a queen, but he forced a sheepish grin and slid another chip toward the dealer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon watched all that transpired at the blackjack table from a bank of nickel slots several yards behind Jane. Her heart raced at the sight of him, here, in the very casino where her Vegas PD friend had told her he'd seen him. If he was trying to hide, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. That alone made her brow knit in suspicion.

She put nickel after nickel into the machine without paying attention, automatically putting all her meager winnings back into the slot as they accumulated. She watched him closely through her sunglasses, and in an hour counted four drinks he'd ordered from the trashy looking waitress in the low cut uniform. She'd never known him to drink that much, and it worried her even more than his scruffy appearance. She saw him lose hand after hand, but he didn't give up, betting wildly and throwing away hundreds of dollars in chips. Obviously, he wasn't cheating, or he'd have a pile of chips in front of him. Either he'd lost his touch or he just didn't care anymore, she thought, and she didn't know which was worse.

When she ran out of nickels, she strolled over to the bar, careful to stay out of Jane's sight but where she could keep eyes on him. She sipped a white wine and tried not to scratch beneath her itchy wig.

 _Well, I've found him_ , she thought. _Now what?_

It no longer occurred to her how good it would feel to punch the bastard in the nose. All she felt now was sadness and pity, with even more questions than she'd had before. He'd clearly gone even further off the rails than when he'd gotten himself fired from the CBI, for now he was acting completely out of character from the calm and controlled Patrick Jane she knew. Ogling waitresses? Drinking like a fish? Losing at cards? She couldn't even fathom what had gotten into him.

He'd said before he left Sacramento that he was giving up on Red John. Was this how he looked when he no longer had a reason for living? He reminded her vaguely of how he'd looked when she'd first met him, a year after the murders of his wife and daughter. As before, her first instinct was to run over to him, shake him senseless, then take him into her arms and save him from himself, but back then she'd stopped herself because he'd been a stranger to her. Now the urge was nearly overwhelming, and she was ready to do just that when he threw his final losing hand down on the table and slid the last of his chips toward the dealer.

"Easy come, easy go," she heard him say, a bit too loudly. He stumbled from the blackjack table and made his way through the maze of tables and people toward the main entrance of the casino. Lisbon slapped a ten down on the bar and followed him.

She was just in time to see him hail a cab, and she memorized the number on the door before getting into a taxi of her own.

"Follow that cab," she said, and the driver raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Are we in a car chase or somethin'?"

Lisbon flashed him her badge in the rearview mirror. "Yeah," she said. "Don't lose him, but don't be obvious about it. It's number 511."

"Yes, ma'am."

The driver moved deftly through the traffic, stopping frequently for jaywalking crowds and stop lights. It took nearly thirty minutes to get a mile down the road, away from the excitement of the main strip. Jane's cab turned a corner and pulled into one of his usual extended stay fleabag motels, complete with underchlorinated swimming pool and _No Vacancy_ sign. She was almost comforted by the fact that his choice of accommodations hadn't changed.

"Hang back," she said to the driver, and she ducked down in the back seat just as Jane nearly tripped on his way out of his own cab. He fumbled in his pockets for the key and let himself into a first floor room.

She was tempted to get out and pound on his door, but she resisted.

"Take me back to where you picked me up," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon returned later in her nondescript, white compact rental car, and parked unobtrusively in the shade of a palm tree where she could watch his door. It was early evening, and the sun was going down, though it was still quite warm in the desert for mid-November. She rolled down her windows and sipped from a bottled water, then unwrapped the convenience store sandwich she'd picked up on the corner. As much as she longed to go to him, she stuck to her plan of observing first before announcing herself. She held out hope that what she'd seen in the casino was just an anomaly, that maybe he was having a bad day. Perhaps he would be more like himself in the morning.

With a sigh, she turned the car radio on low to an eighties pop station and reclined her seat. She was prepared to wait all night if she had to.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Not sure I'm digging the blonde do," said Patrick Jane near her ear. Lisbon was startled awake, disoriented as she found that it was pitch dark now except for the bright neon lights of the Pair-A-Dice Motel. Pulse racing, she reached automatically for the gun on the seat beside her.

Jane was in the back.

"Jesus!"

"Nope, it's just me. Don't shoot!" he whispered, and she saw his dim form in her rearview mirror. She pulled off her sunglasses and met his eyes. He grinned, then ducked down again while her heart flipped over in her chest.

"What the hell, Jane? I could have shot you."

"I took the chance. You shouldn't be here, Lisbon." His voice was suddenly strained now, and deadly serious.

"No, 'it's good to see you, Lisbon'? No, 'I'm sorry for worrying you, Lisbon'?" He didn't even bother to ask how she'd found him.

"Go home," he said, ignoring her questions. "Please."

"Not until I get an explanation of why you dropped off the radar for almost six months. I think you owe me that much, at least."

"I told you, I'm done with the CBI. Done with the whole Red John obsession. I'm trying to make a new life here. Seeing you again—well, it's just a reminder of all that I've chosen to move past. I wish you would respect that."

She tried to control her fury. "Well, I would, if you didn't look like a homeless person and smell like a still," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "If this is your idea of a new life, I'm not impressed."

"Then go home," he said. "I'm sorry, Teresa, but I've left California behind."

Of course, California meant _her_ as well.

She sat there a moment, listening to his quiet breathing in the car, audible even over George Michael begging her to wake him up before she go-goed. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she turned around in her seat to look at him directly. He was sitting on the floor, his legs in what must be an awkward, uncomfortable position.

"Why are you hiding?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. If your new life is so wonderful, why are you hiding in my backseat instead of sitting up front like a normal person?"

"Lisbon—"

"Is someone after you? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No."

"You're lying. Tell me what's going on and maybe I can help you. If you recall, I've had some experience bailing your ass out." They both nearly smiled at that.

But he didn't answer her, and when she heard him reach for the door latch, she pressed the child lock, effectively confining him.

He swore under his breath, something she had rarely heard him do in all the years she had known him.

"Come on, Lisbon, let me go," he said wearily. His eyes glittered in the light of the hotel sign, his expression grim. She felt her own eyes water with frustrated tears, and she angrily blinked them away.

"Give me something I can believe, Jane, that will _allow_ me to leave you behind. Then I'll go, and never try to find you again. But I can't leave now when I know you're in trouble."

"Dammit, Lisbon," he swore again, and she felt a surge of hope.

"If you don't tell me, you know I will hound you till you do," she said ominously.

"Yeah," he admitted, and then she caught a glimpse of the whiteness of his smile. "And you used to say _I_ had trouble letting go."

"Maybe you finally wore off on me."

Her pulse thrummed with the exhilaration of their old familiar banter. She nearly cried again, just because she'd missed it so much.

"Red John could be watching us right now," he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. "Red John followed you here?"

"That's what I hope."

She met his eyes in horror. "You _hope_? Good God, Jane; this was all a ruse, wasn't it? Getting fired, moving here and becoming a—a—"

"Bum?" he supplied.

"I was gonna say _loser_."

He shrugged "You say tomato…"

"So, now let me get this straight. You faked your breakdown, put me through hell for nearly six months, just on the off chance Red John might believe you'd given up on him and he'd follow you here. This is by far the worst idea you've ever had, and that's saying a lot."

"So now you know my secret. You need to go home and forget about it."

"Just like that?" she said, nonplussed.

"Yes. It's for your own safety, and mine too, by the way. So if you really care—"

"You've gotta be kidding me. Don't even think about using that 'I'm trying to protect you' BS. No way in hell can I go home and forget that you're here, putting yourself in danger when I might be able to help."

"Lisbon, if they see you're here—nice disguise, by the way—this whole six months of sacrifice will be for nothing. And because I fooled him, he might find some way to…retaliate." He looked up at her meaningfully. They both knew full well what Red John was capable of.

They were both lost in thought for a moment, and at the sound of a corny hair-band ballad, she flipped the radio off in disgust.

"Tell me something. How do you even know Red John is watching you? Has he made any overtures?"

"Overtures?" he repeated with an amused smirk. "Not yet. But I have a feeling about this waitress I met today."

"Oh, you mean Miss Cleavage? Yeah, I saw her too. Very flirty. But I'm sure you get that a lot; I don't see how that means anything."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the personal observation. "Well, not so much lately. Women tend to shy away from stinking drunks."

"Is that part of your new persona?" she asked with a frown of disapproval.

He nodded. "All for the sake of the long con, Lisbon. Believe me, I'm really not too crazy about the dry heaves, but since that waitress might be working for Red John, it's probably a good way to establish contact. Come to think of it, it's probably why he recruited her for the job." He didn't dare mention Lorelei's resemblance to Lisbon.

"You still have no proof; you may just be wishful thinking. Seeing things through drunken goggles. Come home with me, Jane. We can convince Wainwright to give you your old job back. Our case closure rate has plummeted since you've been gone. If you apologized to him, I bet he'd take you back in a heartbeat. Don't you think this con job has gone on long enough? Wouldn't Red John have made his move by now?"

"I think he wants to be good and sure of me. But I'll tell you what. Give me two more months, and I'll come crawling back on my hands and knees, begging Little Big Man to forgive me. But I can't close the deal having to worry about you."

"And what do you plan to do if this waitress is one of Red John's friends? Bring a gun with you for your first meet and greet? Sounds pretty foolhardy to me. Then, what happens to you? You go to jail? Flee the country? Get yourself killed by a vengeful follower? Any of those scenarios guarantees I don't see you again. Is that—is that what you want?" She swallowed over the hard lump in her throat, willing herself not to become a pathetic waterworks over this man. At least not in his presence.

He reached over the seat for her hand, holding it in his cold, dry one. He was nervous, she realized, for she'd always known Patrick Jane's hands had to be reliably warm.

"You know that's not what I want," he said solemnly. "But I still have hope it won't play out in any of those ways. Yes, I'm going to kill the bastard, but I'm not going to be stupid about it. No one will be able to trace his death back to me. Or maybe I'll just make him disappear. I used to be a pretty good magician…"

His attempt at humor fell on frightened ears, but she held onto his hand now with both of hers.

"I'm not leaving," she said. "So include me in this plan of yours, or I'll have you arrested, and expedited back to California."

"On what charge?" he said, taken aback.

"I'm sure the statute of limitations hasn't run out on some iffy thing you did while working for the CBI."

"So you're blackmailing me now?"

"Damn straight. How do you like them apples?" It was one of her charming Midwestern expressions, and it made him chuckle softly to hear it after so long.

"I've missed you, Lisbon," he said, squeezing her hand and gazing into her eyes with such blatant affection that she felt her face flush. She was grateful for the relative darkness.

He sighed dramatically. "All right. You win. I'll come back with you, okay? Just let me out of here so I can go pack up my stuff."

"Yeah, right. I don't trust you, Jane."

"Well then what's the point of us ever being partners again?"

"Good question. But you know I'm not leaving, and I know you're not either, now that you think that waitress is Red John's girl. So I guess this is what you'd call an impasse. Where do you want to meet tomorrow to work out our plan?"

She could tell by his expression that he knew she had him where she wanted him, and it took all her willpower not to shout her victory to the heavens for putting one over on Patrick Jane.

"Where are you staying?" he asked finally, his tone reflecting his resignation.

"At that casino where I found you. Room 1108."

"I'll be there at nine a.m. Now don't come back here again, promise me. I'm not kidding about likely being watched."

"No, I get it."

"And keep up with the disguise, just in case. What was the point of that, anyway?"

"I wasn't sure I wanted you to know I was here. I wanted to see if you were okay first. When I saw you clearly weren't…"

"My disguise was pretty good too, eh?" he said, his familiar cocky grin warming her heart. "So, are you letting me out, or am I resigning myself to a sore back along with my morning hangover?"

He heard the faint click of the door lock releasing.

"Thanks." He grunted a little as he maneuvered out of his awkward position on the floor. He muttered something about being too old for this shit, and Lisbon smiled. He sat in the seat and she felt the faint caress of his fingers against her cheek as he lifted a lock of her wig. She twisted in her seat again to meet his eyes.

"You'll never be able to hide from me, Lisbon," he whispered, and he playfully tickled her nose with the tip of the fake blonde hair.

And then he was gone, hunkering down on the dark side of the car. She watched his shadow move around the perimeter of the motel, until he emerged at last near the outdoor ice machine at the darkest end of the paved walkway. Then, straightening his suit coat, he went into his room and shut the door behind him.

That man was so damn infuriating, she thought. So arrogant, so reckless.

 _God, it was good to see him._

 **A/N: Okay, so here we go! The car scene is obviously a sort of replacement for the church scene in 4x24 (though that was still one of my all-time favorite scenes from the show), but I had to have some private place for them to be reunited. Thanks for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts. More very soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First, as I said on Twitter, I am completely touched and overwhelmed by the wonderful, welcoming reviews I received for chapter 1. I am so grateful, and inspired to keep writing. In this chapter, I've weaved in actual events from 4x24, but you'll notice I changed a few minor details and dialogue, messed with the timeline a bit, so it's not just a repeat of what you likely know by heart. Of course, Lisbon being there changes most everything, as you will see as the chapter unfolds. Please enjoy!

 **Chapter 2**

The moment Jane shut his motel room door behind him, he sat heavily on the bed. He couldn't deny that it was wonderful to see Lisbon again, but as always, where his relationship with Lisbon intersected with Red John, there he found intense, undeniable fear. His nemesis knew full well what losing Lisbon would do to him, and part of Jane wondered why he'd decided not to torture Jane further by taking her away as brutally as he had Jane's wife and daughter. Jane knew most of the explanation was because Red John liked to toy with him, but Jane also understood the killer's arrogance, his desire to always be one step ahead. So, as Jane had warned Lisbon, if Red John found out about Jane's deception, there would be hell to pay.

Jane ran a shaking hand through his mad tousle of dirty blond curls. He had to stop drinking so much, he thought. Maybe just at the casino, for show, but here at his motel, he would start just pouring bottles down the sink before leaving the empties in the trash to continue the ruse. He was afraid he was truly going to end up becoming an alcoholic, given how well he'd been sleeping lately. But he didn't like Lisbon seeing him this way, and he'd hated seeing her disapproval and hurt when she saw in him what she had once seen in her father.

He sighed. Already he could see his months of work falling apart. This was a big reason why he'd had to get away from Lisbon. Lisbon made him a better man, and to get into Red John's orbit, he had to become anything but. He stripped off his clothes and got in the shower, mindful of Lisbon as he scrubbed himself from head to toe. He could still look bedraggled—he wouldn't shave yet—but he couldn't stand the idea that she would think he smelled bad.

"Dammit," he said to himself. "Not five minutes in her presence and I'm already trying to impress her." He smiled though, replaying their conversation in the car. She sure put him in his place, resorting to blackmail and emotional manipulation. Not five minutes in _his_ presence, and he'd already corrupted _her_. He chuckled aloud at the thought. This, he recalled, as the soothing water began to clear his head a little, was why they made such a good team. They balanced each other out.

He slept well—one welcome side-effect of drinking too much. The next morning, he put on a clean shirt and his cleanest suit, sans vest, and drove to the casino. He made a show of gambling a bit before telling the dealer he had to see a guy about a horse. He knew there was a stairwell near the door to the restroom, and after looking around, slipped inside. He went up one flight before exiting, and used the second floor elevator to continue to the eleventh, where Lisbon's room was. He felt unaccountably nervous, not only because he was about to see Lisbon again, but because he still feared he might be followed, or watched. He didn't know how far Red John's power extended. Did he have someone watching the security cameras for him at that very moment, reporting back his movements? When Lisbon hadn't been there, he hadn't even given that a second thought, because he always remained in character. He hadn't been worried about what Lisbon thought.

With a deep breath, he tapped lightly on 1108, felt her looking at him through the peephole. The deadbolt turned, and she opened the door just wide enough for him to come inside.

"Good morning," he said softly, smiling at her in her blonde wig. She was wearing another dress, and it was all he could do not to stare in fascination at the unfamiliar sight of her toned calves, and dainty bare feet. His grin widened when he saw her toenails were bright pink.

"Hey." The moment the door was closed, she tore off her wig and tossed it on the bed where it landed like a golden Tribble. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that thing."

He had to admit she looked better as a brunette. She took a moment to size him up too, and he wrote it off as their long separation that made his face feel warm.

"You look better. Smell better too."

"Gee, thanks."

She grinned and gestured to one of the chairs near a table by the window. She sat across from him in the other.

"So," she said, getting right to it. "I've been thinking. If you really believe this waitress is working for Red John, I'll follow her, do surveillance on her home, monitor her-"

Jane shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"What? Why?"

"He'll know," said Jane solemnly.

"I'm good at my job, Jane."

He wisely didn't argue with that, but he said: "The best thing you can do is just wait in the wings as my backup. She's going to make her move soon."

"And what do you suppose that move is?"

"She'll find a time to engage me in conversation, feel me out a bit. Then, after she reports back to her boss that I really am nearing rock bottom, she'll come back with an offer of friendship. But I'll have to do something to prove myself."

Lisbon knit her brows, then absently shifted her legs, crossing one over the other so that he got a glimpse of her knee and part of one pretty thigh. His eyes jerked away from the lovely vision, forcing himself to focus on her face.

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "No idea. I bet it's something I really don't want to do, however."

"And all you want me to do is hang back and watch?"

"That's all you _can_ do, Lisbon."

"You could be wasting your time here," she ventured thoughtfully. "This waitress could be no one. Hell, Red John may not even know or care that you're here."

"He knows," said Jane. "I can feel it."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been getting a little too much into the psychic bit again, haven't you?"

"You know about that?" Another thing to feel ashamed about.

"Yeah, a friend in Vegas tipped me off after he heard you were operating your old fake psychic business again. That's how I found you."

"Hmm," he said. "I needed to make some money, but I also needed Red John to see how I was so off the tracks that I was willing to return to a job I detested. I forgot how much I hated it, to be honest."

Lisbon shook her head sadly. "I hope all you're putting yourself through both physically and emotionally is worth it. You know the old saying, about how vengeance hurts the person seeking it more…"

"Don't worry, Lisbon. If all goes as planned, Red John will be the one hurting most in the end." His voice took on the ominous tone she hated when he spoke of destroying his nemesis.

She decided not to point out another old saying, about the best laid plans of mice and men.

While they were speaking, Jane noticed that the small envelope on the table containing Lisbon's room key card held _two_ cards, likely an oversight of the hotel staff for a room with one occupant. When he stood to take his leave, he palmed one when she wasn't looking. No doubt a good detective like her would figure it out later, but maybe she would take comfort in knowing he had it in case of an emergency. Yeah, that was the hope. More likely she'd be pissed off, but he'd jump off that bridge when he came to it.

"Do me a favor," Jane said, his voice lightening as she walked him to the door. "Pick us up a couple of burner phones just in case. It would look suspicious if I were seen buying them. I'll meet you back here at about five."

"Okay. You'll be down at the blackjack tables again?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll let myself win a few more hands to celebrate your arrival."

"Nice," she said dryly. Her hand moved to the door, but before she could open it, Jane acted on impulse and gathered her into his arms in a warm bear hug. He felt her stiffen for a brief moment, but as he inhaled the fresh scent of her hair, she softened against him and returned his embrace.

"I've missed you," he breathed for the second time since she'd found him. She didn't reply, but the way her heart pounded against his, he knew she felt the same. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her small, slim body against his, noting with an unexpected pang of desire how glorious her breasts felt pressed against his chest. The hug went on for several seconds beyond what it should have, and he was oddly reluctant to let her go. By the time he did, however, there was something new in the air between them, something that had his pulse humming and had Lisbon flushed and unable to look him in the eye.

"Be careful," she told him, standing behind the open door to block her wigless appearance.

"You too, Lisbon. Give me about fifteen minutes before you come down, then I'll meet you back here at five." When she closed the door behind him, he was still trembling.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _What the hell was that_ , Lisbon asked herself, putting on the dreaded wig with shaking hands. She could have sworn his hug had been more than a friendly one. His hands on her back had been too caressing, and she could have sworn he was smelling her hair. Any more hugs like that, and it would be difficult for her to hide her true feelings from him, and they both had to keep their heads in the game if this was going to work. No time for distractions.

She looked at her eyes in the bathroom mirror, luminous and a little dreamy when she relived the feel of his body so close to hers, remembered the soft rasp of his beard against her cheek, the faint scent of his soap and the overwhelming charisma that was all Jane. If she had time she would douse her face with cold water, but then she'd have to redo her makeup. Jane had said fifteen minutes. Cursing silently at her weakness where that man was concerned, she slipped on her sandals, grabbed her purse, dark glasses, and the keycard envelope, and made her way to the elevator.

The first floor casino was busy already, though it was only nine-thirty in the morning. Arming herself with more nickels from the kiosk, she wandered the rows of slot machines until she found a clear view of Jane, who was just settling in at a card table. She noted that Lorelei's shift must have started, and frowned when she saw the dark-haired woman laugh while taking Jane's drink order.

"These nickel slots used to be so much more fun," commented the senior citizen sitting on the stool next to her. She'd apparently misunderstood Lisbon's unhappy expression.

"Yeah. I love the slots, but can't make myself move up to the quarter or even the dollar ones. I guess I'm too cheap to waste my money that way."

The older woman laughed. "I know what you mean. It's my husband who's the real gambler. I just come with him for the buffets and the shows. He usually does so well at blackjack that he pays for our entire trip."

"Well, he must be really lucky."

Lisbon absently continued making small talk with her neighbor, but it wasn't long before she became extremely bored, and more than a little antsy. Jane, she noted, using her glasses as a shield, had accumulated quite a pile of chips in front of him. She figured he'd start losing soon to make it seem more dramatically tragic.

"Anything to drink, ladies?" asked Lorelei.

Lisbon stiffened, her heart giving a thump for fear she'd been caught watching Jane. She shifted her eyes to her machine. "Just a Diet Coke," please, she said politely.

"Sure thing."

After Lorelei had taken her order and left, the woman beside Lisbon made a clucking sound. "Those outfits of theirs are getting sluttier every day."

Lisbon chuckled and deposited another nickel.

After another hour of monotony and wasted money, Lisbon had to get up. She purposefully walked past Jane so he could see her, and moved to the bar. She ordered a coffee this time, and sipped it, pretending to watch the football game on the TV and not the dancing girls on the stage behind her. A few minutes later, Lisbon was startled to see Jane sitting at the other end of the bar. He ordered a scotch and gave her a flirtatious grin that fluttered her heart. She ignored him though and pointedly turned back to the game, reminding herself that he was just playing a part.

Jane and the bartender chatted about football, but it wasn't long before Lorelei joined him, sitting down tiredly on the stool beside him.

"Sam," she said to the bartender, "I'm takin' ten. Could I get a shot please?"

"Coming right up."

While she was waiting for her drink, she glanced sidelong at Jane.

"You looked like you were doing pretty good at the blackjack table," she said conversationally.

"Oh, well. I was at first. Easy come, etcetera, etcetera."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm sure your luck will improve. Hang in there."

"Thanks."

Lorelei received her drink with a smile at Sam, then downed her shot. "I'm Lorelei, by the way."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. I've seen you around here before. I'm Patrick."

"Hey, Patrick."

They shook hands, and Lisbon tried not to appear to take too much notice of them, feigning complete fascination with the football game.

The pair went on to talk about such varied topics as the meaning of life and Jane's theories about wrong and right (which Lisbon knew for a fact were total bullshit) and his surprising admission of being a con man and a murderer. She wondered if Jane was about to ask Lorelei out when they were interrupted by a burly man in a suit and his goon, Murray. Jane introduced Oscar to Lorelei, and things seemed cordial enough, up until it was revealed that Jane had scammed Oscar into giving him ten grand.

Dear God, thought Lisbon, what the hell had he gotten himself into? Those guys were going to kill him. Lisbon eyed her purse on the bar, put her hand on it to feel the comforting outline of her Glock within. Jane avoided looking her way, which made her hesitate to intervene. _He must think he has everything under control_ , she realized. She watched in surprise as he lit a cigarette, and the next thing she knew, Oscar was on fire!

Everyone around them gasped and stood up at the spectacle, while Jane used that moment of pandemonium to run. Lisbon watched Lorelei carefully, saw that she didn't appear too disturbed, and merely brushed the splashes of alcohol off her uniform, yet she was still watching Jane escape Oscar and his henchman. Teresa took advantage of her distraction and slipped away, going around the bar behind the waitress and walking quickly toward the casino entrance, taking a different route. She saw Jane slip through the crowd like he was buttered, while Oscar and Murray carelessly pushed people out of the way, leaving a trail of shrieking and cussing behind them.

Lisbon paused at the main doors, watched Jane and his two tails run across the busy street and toward a side street. Lisbon held onto her purse and followed at a casual trot. When she was out of sight of the casino, she pulled out her gun and ran to catch up. In the distance, she could hear the sound of police sirens—a patrol car must have been in the vicinity.

She caught up with them at the gated dead end of an alley, and Jane was getting the hell kicked out of him by Murray.

"Stop! Police!" she yelled, in her best law enforcement voice. She ran up to the fight and repeated herself. This time they heard, and Murray stepped away from Jane. By then, the police car had found them.

"Put the gun down!" ordered the officer.

Lisbon dropped her weapon and put her hands on her head.

"On your knees, right now!"

Lisbon complied, but Jane remained on the dirty concrete, bleeding from his nose and breathing heavily.

"You shouldn't have followed me," he murmured angrily.

"Oh, shut up and wipe your damn nose."

"Don't tell them about me," he said, just before the two police officers approached and hauled him upright. Oscar and Murray dutifully knelt near the fence. She could clear this whole thing up, call in a favor with her friend in the Las Vegas PD, but she met Jane's eyes and he shook his head slightly. He always knew what she was thinking, damn him.

They were all hauled down to the police station, and it took only a few moments to verify Lisbon's ID and badge from her purse. She said she'd witnessed the initial altercation at the bar, and followed, hoping she might be of assistance. While the others were being processed, Lisbon spoke to the police chief in his office.

"What are you doing so far from home, Agent Lisbon?"

"Vacation," she said.

"With your Glock?" he said, handing her weapon back to her.

"Habit," she said with a shrug and a sheepish smile. She rather felt like Jane when she did it. She put the gun back in her purse.

"And you don't know any of the parties involved?"

This was a tricky one. "I've spoken to the blonde guy before."

Not a lie.

The chief, a Native American man in his fifties, frowned. "At the bar?"

"No. Earlier. In my hotel room." She tried to look embarrassed at the implications of her own words—not too difficult, as she remembered what she'd felt when she was in his arms.

"Aww," said the chief, understanding now. "Sort of a 'what happens in Vegas' sorta deal, eh?"

She blushed. "Something like that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone at the CBI. Maybe I can return the favor someday." And she gave him her most charming, dimpled smile, feeling oddly like she was channeling Jane again.

"You planning on bailing him out?"

"I don't know. Hey, look, the officers took my statement, got my contact information. Mind if I leave now? I kinda wanted to stay out of a police station on my vacation, if you know what I mean."

"Sure. Thanks for your help, Agent."

"No problem." They shook hands.

"How long are you going to be in town?"

"Oh, a week. Maybe two."

What she really wanted to do was to get the hell out of there before they ran Jane's prints. It wouldn't be long before they figured out he had worked for the CBI up until six months ago.

"Can I see Mr. Jane before I leave?"

"Sure. Jones!" An officer appeared at the open door of his chief's office.

"Yes sir?"

"Take Agent Lisbon here to lockup, will ya?"

"Sure thing."

Jane was in the crowded holding cell with prostitutes, drunks, and other disorderly offenders, Oscar and Murray separated from him in the next cell. Jane strolled casually to meet her at the bars.

"Lisbon," he said. "You haven't bailed me out yet, have you?"

"No." She dropped her voice to an annoyed whisper. "I can't believe I lied for you. If the chief calls Wainwright—"

"Pshaw. Don't worry about it. Just leave me here overnight. I'm betting Lorelei or maybe even Red John will cover my bail, you watch."

She shook her head at him. "Frankly, I'm a little more worried about my job right now."

"Look, if it comes down to it, just tell the truth. You found out where I was and came to check on me. You didn't claim me because you were pissed, wanted me to learn my lesson in the pokey."

She looked around his stellar new accommodations, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Well that's certainly true. I still misled a police officer though."

"Say you were working undercover then. I don't know—we'll come up with something if we have to. All I'm saying is, bailing me out is the perfect opportunity for Lorelei to gain my trust and gratitude. I'll feel beholding to her, and she'll try to exploit that."

"Dammit, Jane."

He grinned, and his hand came out through the bars to touch hers. "I'll be all right. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, I'm not. As a matter of fact, jail is probably the safest place for you right now. At least I'll know where you are."

He ignored the barb. "I'll call you when I get out."

She sighed. "Okay. But I'll be getting together your bail money, just in case."

"I find your lack of faith in my instincts rather insulting."

"The feeling's mutual, buddy."

They stared at each other through the bars of his cell, his eyes boring into hers with undisguised emotion. For a dizzy moment, she had the crazy feeling that he was going to kiss her. She took a nervous step back from the cell, and his lips formed a serious line.

"Be careful," he told her.

"You too," she said, glancing at his rowdy neighbors. With a fleeting smile, she turned and left him, but every instinct in her told her to get him out of there and whisk him back with her to California.

"You're an idiot," she said under her breath, uncertain whether she meant Jane or herself.

Her police escort looked back at her as he opened the outer door to let her pass. "Ma'am?"

"Nothing," she said, and dug in her purse for her phone so she could call a taxi.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Not long after Lisbon left the station, the chief of police brought Jane into his office. He stared at Jane over his reading glasses; Jane could tell the jig was up.

"So, up until about six months ago, you worked for the California Bureau of Investigation as a uh—"he looked at the printout on his desk—"consultant. Now you're here in Vegas, and coincidentally, your former coworker shows up and is part of an altercation involving you and two other men. Agent Lisbon failed to mention your true relationship back in California, or what you are doing in my city. Any idea why that would be?"

"We're part of an undercover operation, way _way_ off the books. Neither of us is at liberty to give specifics. It has nothing to do with Oscar, though. That was all me."

"You got a boss back home I can verify this with?"

"Kimball Cho," he answered, without hesitation. Cho would know something was up and had the quick thinking to cover for him and Lisbon. At least he hoped so. No sense involving Lisbon's _real_ boss, Agent Wainwright.

After listening to a few more minutes berating him about operating under his jurisdiction without a professional courtesy call, the chief looked up the number for the Sacramento branch of the CBI and called right in front of him.

"Agent Kimball Cho, please." After a moment on hold, the operator put him through.

"Cho."

Jane could faintly hear Cho's familiar monotone on the other end.

"Agent Cho, this is Police Chief Warren Two Guns from Las Vegas PD. I have sitting here in front of me a former agent of yours, one Patrick Jane."

"Yeah." Jane could hear his friend's cautious acceptance.

"Now he's in my custody for disorderly conduct and assault, and another of your agents, Lisbon, identified herself as being with the CBI after pulling a gun at a crime scene."

"OK."

Jane hid his smile by tapping his fingers on his lips, imagining Cho trying to process all of this, thinking on his feet how Lisbon would want him to handle this. He loved Cho. Chief Two Guns, however, was being treated to the delightful experience of a Cho Stall. Like pulling teeth, Jane knew.

The chief gave a little huff of exasperation. "Mr. Jane claims that the two of them are here on an undercover mission."

"And?"

" _And?_ Well, Agent Cho, it would have been nice if you'd given us a heads' up around here. Saved us a lot of trouble hauling these two in. As it is, Mr. Jane is facing some potentially serious charges—"

"Is Lisbon there?" Cho interrupted.

"No! She left already. Hasn't even bailed her partner out. What the hell is it with you people?"

"Sorry for any inconvenience, Chief. I can't really talk about this with you, you understand. I'll contact Agent Lisbon and see that there's no further intrusion in your jurisdiction. Thanks for calling."

Cho hung up.

Two Guns looked at the phone in disbelief, before almost slamming it down on the cradle. He tossed his reading glasses on his desk in annoyance.

"Jones! Take Mr. Jane back to the pen." He looked at Jane. "Until I get official word what to do with you, or someone bails you out, you'll remain in _my_ custody, you hear?"

"Clear as a bell," said Jane with a cheerful smile. "See ya, Chief."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon passed a nerve-wracking afternoon and evening, keeping up her cover by wandering through the casino and the high dollar shops, stuffing herself on the giant buffet's crab legs and partaking from the endless dessert table. Her phone volume was set on high so she could hear it over the cacophony of the casino, yet still she checked it frequently. She remembered to buy a pair of burner phones and stuffed them in her purse.

Cho called her about his conversation with Two Guns, but his only question was if she needed any help. Good old Cho.

"No," she said. "Thanks for covering for us. I promise I'll fill you in on everything as soon as I can. I owe you one, Kimball."

"49ers tickets," he said instantly.

"Done." She grinned.

"Jane ok?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you figured out what this is about." Only Red John lent this much secrecy.

"Yeah. I'm here if you need me."

"I know."

"Be careful."

"I will. Thanks again."

She hung up with a relieved smile. At least she was covered back at home—for now, anyway.

When Jane hadn't called by midnight, she turned in, exhausted from worry and days of sleepless nights. The moment she opened her eyes at six a.m., she checked her phone, but there were no messages, and she hadn't missed any calls or texts. She showered and dressed in jeans and a flowery blouse, then called the police station. He'd been released a half-hour ago. Someone else had bailed him out.

Her heartbeat quickened. Did Lorelei or Red John have him now? She called his phone, but it rang once before going to voicemail. She didn't dare leave a message. The bastard was supposed to call if he was bailed out. She made a strong, disgusting pot of hotel room coffee merely for the caffeine kick, taking it with her in the Styrofoam cup as she rushed out of her room to the elevator, straightening her wig with one hand.

As Lisbon drove casually by Jane's motel, she saw no movement near his room. The blinds were drawn and it was dark within. She parked in another motel parking lot a half-block away, then waited in the bushes within sight of his door. She scanned the lot, but didn't see anything that looked like a surveillance vehicle, and no one was up and around this early in the morning in Vegas.

Taking out a credit card, she trotted across the lot to his room and knocked, though she didn't expect him to answer. It was a very old, out-of-date motel, thankfully, and it was an easy thing to use her card to disengage the simple lock. Jane's influence again, she mused, but she was too worked up to smile. She went inside the room, finding it empty. She kept the lights off and sat on the bed, preparing to wait. In the dimness she saw the bed was freshly made, and there were clean towels in the bathroom-signs the maid had been there the day before, though everything else was cluttered, as if he'd asked her not to mess with his stuff. She noted Jane's supply of tea bags and china cups near an electric tea kettle, and frowned at the half-bottle of whiskey. She got up and stole a bottled water from the mini fridge, having to move aside a carton of Chinese takeout to find one.

It was stuffy without the window air conditioning unit on, and she unbuttoned her blouse another button, but resisted the temptation to remove the damn wig. From the open door of the closet, she saw two familiar suits and three slightly wrinkled dress shirts—he'd never been one to iron. The dresser was stacked messily with books on a multitude of subjects. Sitting here in the room where he'd spent all those quiet months, Lisbon could almost feel his loneliness, and her heart ached for him. He was stubborn and obsessed and emotionally damaged, and she felt for him, understood his intense desire for closure, though she couldn't quite bring herself to agree with his methods.

Lisbon had only had a chance to take one long drink from her bottle when she heard the key in the lock. She stood, her hand going to her purse, and had a moment to regret her impulse to come here. What if Lorelei was with him? She moved to stand behind the door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane came inside, shut and locked the door behind him, then turned on the air conditioner before fairly flinging himself upon the bed. He stretched out and closed his eyes, tired beyond measure after a night spent leaning against the cold bars of a jail cell.

"Why didn't you call me?" Lisbon demanded, setting her Glock on the small table in the corner.

Jane sat up in surprise, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with fear, one of them ringed by a rainbow of bruise colors.

"Holy shit!" he swore. Then he realized it was her. He squinted in the dimness. "Lisbon? What the hell-?"

"You were supposed to call me," she said, moving to turn on the bedside lamp.

He sat at the end of the bed, ran both hands through his hair while he tried to calm his pulse.

"You trying to give me a heart attack? Sheesh. You're not even supposed to be here."

"Answer my question. Why didn't you call?"

"The line for the police phone was a mile long, and my phone was dead. A bus stopped right outside the police station, so I just hopped on. I was going to call you the minute I plugged in my phone. Here, look." He held out his phone, and she could see when he flipped it open that it wasn't on.

She accepted his explanation, but she was having difficulty calming her own anxiety, her sense of impending doom.

Then, to her surprise, he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "She bailed me out."

"Dear God," she said, her expression far from the glee on his. "But this could just be the kindness of a stranger…"

Jane shook his head. "A thousand dollars' worth of kindness? From a waitress? Doubtful. It's Red John, all right."

Her legs suddenly weak, she sat in the rickety chair at the table.

Suddenly, Jane was re-energized. He popped up from the bed and moved over to stand before her, reaching for both her hands. Hers were icy cold.

"Now, you need to go, Lisbon. I'm expecting company any minute."

"But you might need back-up—"

The knock on the door made them both jump. He gave Lisbon a guarded look, and she reached for her gun again. He looked through the peephole.

"It's her!" he whispered. "Get in the closet!" She complied as quietly as she could, and he slid the door shut on her. A second later, the door opened again, and he thrust her purse into her hands, leaving her in darkness once more.

She heard Jane open the door.

"Hi," he said, feigning surprise.

"Hey. Don't you remember me?"

"Yeah, uh, sure. Lori, right?"

"Lorelei," she corrected, not totally convinced he'd forgotten.

Lisbon heard the rustle of a paper bag. "I brought you chicken soup," said the waitress. "Thought you might need it after yesterday."

"Well, that was nice of you. What's the occasion?"

"Can we talk a minute?"

He must have stepped aside. "Sure. Please, come on in…"

 **A/N: How nice it would have been if Jane's first sleepover after his wife had been Lisbon instead. Not trying to give anything away here, but I** ** _am_** **re-writing history. More very soon. Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I continue to appreciate all the wonderful reviews. Thanks so much! I know many of you expressed concerns about what Lisbon might witness in the closet. Remember, this is a rewrite, so it won't follow canon—sort of the point, after all. So, without further ado, here's…

 **Chapter 3**

Lisbon strained to listen over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and the dull hum of the air conditioner unit. She took a few quiet, deep breaths, willing herself to relax. She was mindful of her cellphone in her back pocket, and she tried to remember if she had turned the volume down. She'd meant to, before she'd gotten out of her car earlier, but if she'd actually done it, she'd been so preoccupied with finding Jane that she didn't have a clear memory of doing it. Pressed against Jane's clothes in the closet, she didn't dare move, fearing the clinking of the wire hangers against the metal bar would give her away.

 _Calm down, Teresa_ , she said to herself. _Focus._

After another deep breath, she willed her mind to still and strained to listen.

"Why would you do that for me?"

Jane was asking about her putting up his bail money.

"Because you seem like a good man whose lost his way."

They spoke some more, and Jane complimented her on the soup she'd brought.

 _Chicken soup, really?_ thought Lisbon. _He has a black eye, not the flu._

Lisbon knew she was being catty, for until they knew for sure Lorelei worked for Red John, she could just be a nice woman who wanted to help a handsome man, down on his luck. If that was the case, Lisbon couldn't actually blame her, but still, this was Jane. _Her_ Jane. He'd been her responsibility for so many years now, she felt understandably proprietary where he was concerned. Well, that, and she loved him to the brink of insanity, so yeah, she was jealous to her marrow.

Several minutes later, after idle small talk about the weather and the casino and his run-in with Oscar, Lisbon heard the creaking of the bed springs, and her heart picked up speed again. They were farther away from the noisy air conditioner, and closer to the closet, so she could hear things much more clearly. She didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad. She heard the rustling of clothing. Surely they weren't going to—

"You're such a beautiful man," Lorelei was saying, her voice full of sympathy and seduction. "You deserve so much more than this."

"I don't know about that," countered Jane. "After all I've done in my life, this is probably a lot _more_ than I deserve, actually."

"Everyone deserves a second chance, though, Patrick. A chance to start again, with no one there to judge you. I could be that for you, if you'd let me."

"You don't even know me," said Jane.

"We share a strong connection; I know you feel it too."

"Maybe, but—"

And then Lisbon heard Jane's surprised inhalation, and the unmistakable soft smacking of lips against lips. Lisbon felt a sharp stab in the vicinity of her heart, so painful that she had to stifle her own gasp. The bed squeaked again as they moved, and she heard a feminine sigh of appreciation. Everything in Lisbon cried out to dramatically emerge from the closet and stop this, even if it ruined all that Jane had worked for, even if it put them both in mortal danger. She couldn't believe he was willing to go this far, that he could throw aside the connection he felt with _her_ to sleep with Red John's whore. Her throat felt tight with hot, unshed tears.

The bed suddenly shifted violently, and over the sound of their heavy breathing came Jane's ragged protest.

"No! I'm sorry, but I—I can't."

"It's okay," Lorelei soothed. "I can help you out with that."

"It's not that. Well, not _just_ that." He sighed, and Lisbon could imagine him running frustrated hands through his hair. His words came out in an uncharacteristic rush. "I'm exhausted, and I have a hangover and bruised ribs. And, to tell you the truth, it's been a long time since I—since I've done this." Lisbon wondered if he was faking the tremble in his voice.

"Sit down, Patrick," Lorelei said. "We'll take it slow." Her tone turned teasing. "I'll be gentle with you. Or not. Whatever you need."

"Listen…Lorelei. No, please…I-I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, believe me. You're incredibly beautiful and extremely tempting, and the soup was very good, but, I don't think I can give you what you want from me."

There was an awkward silence, and the bed creaked again.

"Don't you think it's time to move on, Patrick? Angela wouldn't have wanted you to punish yourself like this."

Lisbon could feel his shock through the closet door. Even Lisbon had never dared utter his dead wife's name, as if saying it aloud were uttering blasphemy.

"Who the hell _are_ you?"

Lisbon had no doubt the cold anger in Jane's voice was real; on the few occasions she'd heard him like that, she'd gotten an icy chill down her spine then, too.

"Someone who wants to help you, Patrick. We have a mutual friend, you and I. He's concerned about you too. He sent me here to help you find your way out of this dark pit you've dug for yourself, to bring you into the lig-"

"Who?" Jane demanded dangerously, and Lisbon's heart stopped.

"Red John, of course."

 _He was right_ , thought Lisbon. _Goddamn but he was right._

Jane paused in feigned surprise, then: "What the hell does he want from me? I've given up, just like Timothy Carter told me to. I'm out of the revenge business, and all I want is to be left alone—by _everyone_ , understand? I don't need you, and I certainly don't need _him_."

"But Patrick, you _do_ need him, don't you see? Red John's been watching you and your struggle to move on with your life. But you're drowning here. Let him throw you a line."

"You need to leave now," said Jane. Lisbon heard him opening the front door, heard Lorelei gather her belongings.

"I'll go for now. But you know where to find me when you've had time to think about this."

He shut the door on her, locked the dead bolt. Lisbon knew he must be watching through the peephole to be sure Lorelei had gone. Suddenly, the closet door slid open and Lisbon blinked in the bright light.

"She's gone," he said, and his face split into a wide smile. "You heard all that?"

Lisbon nodded, stepping out of the closet, her own face grim. She avoided looking at the bed.

"I told you she was Red John's girl."

Lisbon found she couldn't look at him either.

"Yeah," she said numbly, moving toward the door. "You did, didn't you?" She needed to get out of there, fast.

"You can't leave yet," said Jane, blocking her frantic egress. "As long as I'm here, they'll be watching. I'll go back to the casino in a few hours, then you can follow on your own."

She knew he was right. He was right about everything. They were the closest they had ever been to catching Red John, but all she could think about was that Jane and Lorelei had just been making out on his tacky red bedspread.

"Fine," she said, still avoiding his eyes. "I uh-I need to use the bathroom."

She brushed past him, ignoring the tingle at his warmth, and went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She ripped off the blond wig and threw it on the dingy tile floor, then she turned on the water at the sink and splashed cold water on her pale cheeks. She buried her face in a rough white towel that smelled strongly of bleach, and tried not to be sick to her stomach.

She put the toilet lid down and sat upon it, trying to pull herself together. After about ten minutes, there came a tentative knock on the door.

"Lisbon? You okay? I'm making eggs…"

 _Yes_ , she thought caustically, _because eggs make everything all right._

"I'm fine," she said, hoping she didn't sound as angry as she felt.

But Lisbon wasn't the kind of girl to hide in a bathroom (at least, not for long), so she neatly hung up the towel and, after brushing at her hair with her fingers in the mirror, she opened the bathroom door. Her expression was composed and resigned. Jane was indeed making eggs in an electric frying pan, and he'd even put the teakettle on. He sized up her mood in one glance, and his welcoming smile faded. He turned off the pan and watched as she sat stiffly on the chair by the table.

He was quiet now, deep in thought, but dished out her portion of scrambled eggs onto one of the two plates he owned. He brought their steaming breakfast to the table, returned for silverware and a napkin, and poured two mugs of strong English Breakfast tea, no milk or sugar.

He sat down across from her at the table, put the paper napkin in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

She picked up her tea, sipped, burned her tongue, and set down the cup.

"For what?" she asked coolly, finally looking him in the eyes.

She wanted him to say it, to admit that it hadn't mattered that she was in the closet listening, he was going to get Lorelei's confession no matter Lisbon's feelings on the matter.

He sighed, then put it all on her. "You weren't supposed to be here for that." Instead of placating her, the fury and hurt she was trying to tamp down exploded in a hail of sarcasm.

"Oh, well. Sorry to have interfered with your plans. Tell me, if you had been able to get it up, would you have slept with her while I was a captive audience?" Shocked at her own words, she gasped and clapped one hand over her mouth, green eyes wide.

Instead of being offended, however, Jane laughed aloud.

"Oh, God! I'm sorry, Jane," she said, still so embarrassed at what she'd said she wasn't getting that he hadn't taken offense.

When his laughter died down to a chuckle, then a grin, he reached for her hand. She moved hers away and clasped both hands in her lap.

"Is that what you thought? That I couldn't—I guess I should be mortified by the assault on my male uh, _pride_ , but-"

"I heard you kissing her," accused Lisbon, now annoyed at his amused reaction to what she had thought was deadly serious.

"No, you heard _her_ kissing me. I played the shy maiden, I'm afraid," he said, and winked at her. "Believe me, I used all the biofeedback tricks in my bag, and I—well, I suppose that's not what you wanted to hear either."

Lisbon blanched, then took a sudden ravenous interest in her scrambled eggs. He watched her eat, and he was the one frowning now, suddenly at a loss as to how to comfort her in this situation. They had never spoken of such personal things before, and despite being his closest friend in the world, they'd somehow managed to keep things from crossing a certain invisible line.

For Jane's part, he had been without sex for so long it was almost a nonissue in his life. He'd long ago resigned himself to his celibacy, at first because the thought of sleeping with anyone else but his wife had made him feel like he was cheating on her; he'd still felt very married, and he had never been unfaithful. After some time had passed, it became easier not to think about sex; his desire for vengeance kept him warm at night. But having been away from Lisbon these past six months, he'd begun to think about it again, had thought of _her_ in his most private moments in the shower, or as he lay in his lonely bed at night.

Kissing Lorelei only reminded him of what he would rather be doing with the woman hiding inside his closet, a few feet away. When her lips pressed invitingly to his, he was surprised to discover that he hadn't felt like he was cheating on his wife anymore; he was cheating on Lisbon. Had Lisbon not been just a few feet away, he might have convinced himself it would be worth it, that all it would be was sex. And so he had risked losing the whole game because he hadn't wanted to lose Lisbon. He hoped to hell his fumbling kisses and lack of erection would be enough to get him a meeting with Red John, because it sure wasn't scoring him any points with Lisbon.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Jane," Lisbon said, breaking the charged silence. "I have no doubt you would have slept with her if I hadn't been here." While she said it matter-of-factly, he could sense she was begging him to deny it.

Jane nodded. "I'm not going to insult you with a lie about this, Teresa. I probably would have, just to be sure she could report back to Red John that I was ready for a new life, leaving everyone else behind, including you."

"You would have whored yourself for the sake of vengeance?"

"Yes," he said simply. He couldn't argue her word choice. "Not something I'm exactly proud of, but there it is."

She snorted scornfully, but he didn't miss the flash of hurt in her eyes. When she stood up a few thoughtful minutes later, took her fork and plate to the bathroom sink to wash them, he saw with a sinking feeling that she had made up her mind about something.

"You should eat, Jane," she said without emotion. "Take a shower. Take a nap. You're gonna need it when you go to meet Red John."

She came out of the bathroom, sat in the easy chair beside the bed, picked up the remote control and flipped on the TV. She didn't look at him.

"After this is over," she told him, "I'm done."

He felt like she had kicked him in the gut, even though he had begged her to leave only the day before. He hoped she was just mad, just hurt. She always forgave him, didn't she? He wondered idly if he offered his nose to punch, would she do it, her anger quickly dissipating as with school chums on the playground? But he didn't offer, and she didn't volunteer, so for once, he did what he was told and scooped up his eggs with his fork, though they tasted like ash in his mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane took a shower, which was just further torture, Lisbon thought, as she waited and didn't watch the television. Imagining him naked wasn't doing much for her state of mind. She was done, she'd told him. Five minutes after she'd said it, she knew she was lying—mostly to herself. She would never be done with Patrick Jane, mainly because she both loved and loathed him in equal measure, and she couldn't figure out which side to give up. Only _he_ made her act and speak so impulsively.

Most of her anger was today was from jealousy, if she were honest, and the remainder was from fear. Fear of Red John's power over him. Fear he would get himself killed. Fear she would never be free of this unrequited, impossible love for him.

So she would exact a bit of her own revenge, let him stew awhile in her coldness. She wasn't ready to let him off the hook yet, but she needed to release her anger so she could concentrate on protecting him. It was a difficult balance. She was convinced that he needed her more than ever, given his admission of what he might have done with Lorelei had Lisbon not been in the closet. If what he'd said to Lorelei was true (and Lisbon had no reason to doubt it) about not having slept with anyone in a long while, he might have come to regret a night with someone he didn't really love. He was blind to commonsense when it came to Red John.

While the water in the bathroom ran and the air conditioner and television softly droned, Lisbon dozed in the chair. When she awoke it was to find Jane stretched out on the bed atop the covers, fast asleep. She took the opportunity to observe him sleeping—a sight she hadn't seen in six months. He looked different on a bed instead of his couch at the CBI, more relaxed and spread out in abandon. He was as casual as she'd ever seen him, clad in a plain white t-shirt and slacks with bare feet, his hair damp and curling wildly, annoyingly sexy. She resisted the urge to twirl a wet lock around her finger. His breathing was heavy and deep, and she resigned herself to a long afternoon stuck in his motel room, watching him sleep. Her eyes rested on her purse where she kept her Glock, and she felt much better knowing where Jane was, that he was safe, at least for the moment.

As quietly as she could, she got up and surveyed his stacks of books. Choosing a biography of John Wayne, she settled back into the chair and began to read.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three hours later, Jane rolled over to see Lisbon sleeping in the recliner, though this time she had a book tented on her chest, her breasts rising and falling with her gentle breathing. She didn't look very comfortable, however, and he wished he had the courage to wake her and ask her to join him on the bed. She probably really _would_ punch him then.

The bedside clock flashed 12:28 p.m., and the TV was on low, playing a nature video about a lioness attacking a herd of zebras. He watched in fascination as, at first, the big cat missed her prey, but managed to rally and maul the unfortunate animal on the back, bringing it down in the zebra's own watering hole.

 _It's a lion eat zebra kind of world_ , he thought wistfully.

He wondered whether he was the lion or the zebra in his world, the hunter or hunted, the predator or prey. As a fake psychic, he used to be a lion in his own right, but now Jane watched these nature shows because they gave him insight into the more ruthless lions of the human world. On the savannahs of Africa, there was no right or wrong. Stuff just happened. Survival of the fittest and all that. Predators like Red John identified with and even embraced these ideals. To understand the killer, you had to understand that his motivation was to prey on the weak. But to exact the only kind of vengeance that would ever satisfy him, Jane would have to turn the tables on the predator. He wasn't going to play the zebra anymore.

His eyes strayed back to Lisbon.

She stirred and awoke, rubbing her eyes and yawning softly like a child. She blinked and looked over at Jane who was caught blatantly staring at her. He didn't turn away this time. He let her see his admiration, his longing. For a moment, she was caught too in the sudden awareness between them, and he would bet his last grand that her heart was beating as fast as his was.

She was the one to look away first, and her gaze rested blindly on the flickering TV.

"I hate these shows," she said to fill the silence. He reluctantly looked at the screen as the lion and her cubs dined on the fresh kill.

"Yeah," he said, the moment between them gone. "Me too."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the early afternoon, Jane arose from a nap and put on his dress shirt and suitcoat.

"Will you seek out Lorelei?" Lisbon asked, as he sat on the bed and put on his socks and worn, old oxford shoes.

"Yes," he said. "I'll tell her I've been rethinking things, that I want to join her and Red John.

"You think she'll believe you, after what happened earlier?"

He nodded. "Yes, because that's what she wants to believe, because that's what would make her master happy."

"And then what?"

"I have no idea. I do whatever she asks."

Lisbon stiffened, and began putting on her own shoes that she'd kicked off earlier.

Suddenly, Jane couldn't bare her coldness or the long, uncomfortable silences. He walked over to stand before her where she sat in the easy chair.

"Teresa," he said, but she didn't look up from her feet. He squatted down before her, stayed her hands on the strap of one sandal. "Teresa," he said again, until she met his eyes. "I'm truly sorry about this morning. I didn't do it to hurt you."

Her eyes grew brighter, her cheeks tinged pink. "I know that. But you did it anyway."

His hand came up to touch her cheek, and she almost leaned into its warmth.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. She didn't think she'd ever heard him apologize so much in one sitting. She almost believed he meant it.

"I'll be all right," she said. "I understand what you're doing. I just hate to see the lengths you're willing to go for a vengeance that won't bring your family back."

"I know it won't. But I will never find peace, will never be able to move on with my life, until he is dead."

"I know," she whispered. He was so close to her face, one hand resting now on her shoulder. If either of them moved just a fraction forward, their lips would meet, and everything she'd ever wondered about him would be answered. He released her from his intense gaze, then, in an action that squeezed her heart, he bent his curly head and finished buckling her sandal strap. What would he do, she wondered, if she buried her hands in his hair, pulled his head up so she could find his mouth with hers? Could she make him forget about Red John and Lorelei? Angela? Could she kiss him into abandoning everything that was terrible and dangerous?

When he'd finished with her shoe, he patted her foot and looked up at her with mischief in his eyes.

"There you go, Cinderella."

She smiled in spite of herself, but lacked the words for a snappy comeback.

She watched him rise and go to the table, reloading his pockets with keys, new burner phone, and wallet. They'd exchanged new phone numbers earlier.

"Remember, give me about thirty minutes before you leave. I'm afraid you'll have to sit here in the dark, but the maid shouldn't bother you since I put out the Do Not Disturb sign. I do that sometimes, so that won't be anything out of the ordinary; she knows I like my privacy. Since my car is still at the casino, I'll have to take the bus. I'll try to get her to talk to me in the bar, but I'll text you if plans change."

"Okay," she said, amused in spite of herself at how easily he was spouting out orders. Or was he rambling for some other reason?

She watched him go to the bathroom, then emerge with her wig. He tossed it to her and she caught it with one hand.

"Don't forget your friend," he said with a grin.

She looked down at the offending object, shook the flyaway locks into place. "You know, I have never wanted to be a blond," she mused.

"Well, it was the perfect choice of disguise. You are the least blond person I know."

"Well, that's pretty insulting to blonds, don't you think?"

He smiled. "I'm blond, so I can say that." By now his hand was on the doorknob.

"Be careful," she said automatically.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not still mad at me?"

"Yes, I'm extremely mad at you. But I don't want you dead."

He smirked. "The feeling's mutual, Lisbon. I'll contact you later."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Red John wants Teresa Lisbon dead," said Lorelei from her place across the booth from him. When he'd found her in the casino, she had led him to one of the establishment's four restaurants, a fifties themed diner. He hoped Lisbon had seen him leave the blackjack tables. He didn't think she would follow them; it would seem too suspicious; she would likely find a place where she could inconspicuously watch the door. Now, when her name was brought up, he was very glad there was no sign of her.

"What?" he said, his gut clenching, though the statement shouldn't really have taken him by surprise.

"You heard me. And he wants you to take care of it, as a show of faith."

"That's absurd. I don't want to kill anyone ever again." _Well, not until the real Red John_ , he amended to himself.

"Funny thing, though," Lorelei continued, ignoring his protest, "Agent Lisbon has apparently gone on vacation from the CBI. Any idea where she might be?"

Jane felt his stomach plummet, his mind racing at all her words revealed. He merely shrugged, however, keeping to his new role. "I lost touch with her six months ago. I left her and the CBI behind. I have no idea what she's doing these days."

Lorelei smiled. "Come on, Patrick. You know Teresa Lisbon never takes vacations." Then her dark eyes turned steely. "Where is she?"

Jane took a chance; he got up from the booth. "Look, I've told you I don't know where the hell Lisbon is, and I really don't care whether you believe me or not. I came here acting on good faith to Red John's offer of help. If I wanted judgmental hypocrites, I would have stayed with the CBI."

He walked away, counting slowing in his head to five. He got to three.

"Patrick," called Lorelei.

He stopped, paused for effect, took his time turning around. He walked back to the booth, thought of his dead family and summoned misty eyes.

"Look, I've got nothing here. Nothing in California. Nothing in the world that matters anymore. I'm tired of this dirty city, but I don't have anywhere else to go. I want to let go of the past, start all over again someplace where I feel like a—like a human being again. I'll do anything he wants, but I'm not going to go backward with people who want to ridicule and control me again. Are we clear?" He wiped at his eyes angrily with the back of his hand.

Lorelei sat back in the bench seat, amusement clearly written on her face. She nodded toward the seat opposite.

"Sit down, Patrick."

He hesitated, then sat down heavily, making the whole booth shake.

Lorelei reached out both hands to take his on top of the table. "Calm down, Patrick. No one is trying to control you. We honestly just want to help. But you understand why we are still a bit skeptical. You've hunted Red John for years; we need tangible proof that you are being honest with us. If you are truly starting from scratch, you need to burn all your old bridges completely. Teresa Lisbon is the last bridge between your old life and your new. I know you must have her phone number. Call her and ask her for help. Then…you know what to do."

Jane stared into her fathomless brown eyes, willing her to believe him.

"Okay."

She squeezed his hands. "Good," she said with a wide smile. They both stood, and Jane found himself wrapped in her surprisingly strong embrace. She kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm looking forward to finishing what we started earlier," she whispered in his ear.

"Yeah. Me too."

"We'll be in touch with where to bring the body."

"The body?" He pulled back to look at her.

"Yeah. He'll need proof, of course."

It wasn't hard to act solemn. "Of course."

"Good-bye, Patrick. I have to get back to work."

He watched her leave, heart racing. He was in.

The rest of it was just logistics.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He left the restaurant and re-entered the casino, his eyes surreptitiously scanning for Lisbon. But the blond mop of hair was nowhere to be found, so he made a show of sitting at his usual blackjack table and whiled away an hour, his nerves so hyped that he didn't even have to try to lose; his mind wasn't on the game at all. He replayed his meeting with Lorelei over and over, trying to work through a plan for faking Lisbon's death, imagining what his first real meeting with Red John would be like.

Lorelei took his drink order, but suggested in a low voice that maybe he should lay off the booze, that he needed a clear head right now. He was actually grateful, and he let her bring him a soft drink.

When he'd lost nearly all of what remained of his ten thousand dollars, he looked around again for Lisbon. He was becoming worried. He tossed a chip to the dealer and headed for the restroom. After checking for other patrons, he went inside a stall, took out his burner phone, and began to text.

 _Where are you?_

After five minutes, he risked texting the same message to her other phone. Then he called both, checking that no one was in the restroom before he spoke urgently to her voice mail.

Next, he called the phone in his motel room. No answer. No answer at her hotel room either. Now he was getting really nervous, his heart beating frantically.

He fingered the key card that went to her room upstairs. He was being watched, of that he was sure, but he had to know if Lisbon was all right. He would repeat his actions before, maybe going up the stairs to the third floor before hopping onto the elevator, getting off the floor before hers and taking the stairs the rest of the way up.

Before he left, however, he had one more call to make on his burner phone.

"Cho," said the man into his private cell phone.

"It's Jane."

He could almost envision the agent's face, his usual blank expression changed only by a slight widening of his eyes.

"Yeah. Hi."

"I thought you should know that you have a mole in the CBI somewhere."

"How do you know?"

"A friend of Red John told me she knew Lisbon had taken vacation time. Her name is Lorelei. She's a waitress at the Crimson Hat Casino here in Vegas."

"Okay."

"I don't know any more than that. I figured you would know who would have access to that kind of information."

"Yeah. Anything else?"

"Thanks for covering for me and Lisbon earlier with the police. As soon as I can fill you in, I will."

"That would be good."

Someone came in the restroom, and Jane lowered his voice to a whisper. "If one of us doesn't contact you by ten tonight, something has gone wrong. Send help to the Crimson Hat. Lisbon's room is 1108. I'm at the Pair-A-Dice motel, Room 105. I gotta go."

"Jane—"

But Jane had already hung up. He had a very bad feeling about this, but it made him feel a little better knowing that at least someone might care if they both turned up missing. He'd told Cho all that he could to help in finding them, but he hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't come to that.

Jane knocked softly on Lisbon's hotel room door. She didn't answer, and the Do Not Disturb sign hung on the door handle. The maid was down the hall with her cart, and he kept in mind that maybe she might have seen something, if Lisbon wasn't there. He took out the key card and put it in the slot. The second the light turned green, he slowly pushed open the door. He wished he had a gun.

"Lisbon," he called. When there was no reply, he stepped gingerly inside, shutting the door behind him. He blinked, trying to focus. The lights were out, the curtains all drawn.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was Lisbon's blond wig, abandoned in a small heap on the foyer floor.

 **A/N: Yep, things are starting to get intense. I'm having great fun with this re-write. I hope you are too. Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I appreciate all your great reviews so much! Thanks for the time you take to tell me what you think and offer such wonderful encouragement. Thanks also to those who are favoriting this fic, as well as my older stuff. I really do write these fics for you guys, along with my personal desire to revisit the world of The Mentalist.

That being said, I apologize that this chapter isn't as long as usual. I've hit some writer's block, but I thought that since it's been over a week since I posted a chapter, I would at least give you what I have so far. Thanks for your patience.

Now, to get you off that evil cliff I left you on…

 **Chapter 4**

The first thing Jane felt upon waking was a drop of cool water on his cheek, closely followed by a pounding pain at the back of his head. His vision cleared next, the darkness lightening gradually, until he realized he was still in Lisbon's hotel room, though the lights were on now. He was still where he'd fallen in the foyer, but his head rested on something soft—a woman's bare thighs. He blinked.

"Jane?"

Lisbon.

"Oh, thank God," she was saying, as he focused on her face. Her brows were knit in concern, her green eyes bright with tears, her hair dripping wet. She was wearing only a towel.

He tried to sit up.

"Lisbon? What happened?"

"Easy," she said. "I hit you on the back of the head with my Glock. What the hell were you thinking, sneaking in my room like that? How did you get my key?"

He was still disoriented, his adrenalin still up from his fear Red John had taken Lisbon, his frantic race to her room.

"I—" he began to explain. And then he looked at her, and he felt the fear of the last several minutes colliding with the intense relief that she was okay, that she was sitting before him now in only a towel, smelling of shampoo and lilac body wash and Lisbon.

His head emptied of coherent thought, Jane grabbed her damp, bare shoulders, pulling her to him to capture her mouth with his. His kiss was passionate-almost angry, and at first her lips were still beneath the surprising onslaught of his emotions, but she couldn't resist his warm, seeking mouth, and she opened to him like a flower in the sun. His hands moved to her cheeks as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping through her mouth in rich, heady strokes.

They both went up on their knees, and he felt her hands in his hair, his own gliding now over soft, damp skin covered by rich, white terrycloth. He drew her closer till he swore he could hear her pounding heart echoing his.

"Teresa," he said, releasing her mouth in a ragged breath. He moved his head against her hand and let out a sudden moan as a wave of nausea swept over him. He left her on the floor and stumbled blindly toward the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time.

Lisbon sat back on the floor in a daze, her hand going to her swollen lips. The sounds of Jane heaving in the bathroom shook her out of it, and she rose awkwardly to her feet, adjusting the slipping towel that she'd knotted just above her breasts.

He was hugging the commode with as much passion as he'd just embraced her, his face white as his body convulsed a few more times. He sat back against the coolness of the tile wall, closing his eyes and moaning again. She took a washcloth from a shelf and wet it at the sink, then squatted beside him to wipe his clammy brow.

"You have a concussion," she said softly.

"That must be it," he said. "Nothing personal." He attempted to smile, then flinched as pain and nausea rolled through him again. He leaned over the toilet, but his stomach was disappointingly empty. He sat gently back against the wall, mindful of his aching head, and the coolness of the tile was somewhat soothing.

She got him a glass of water and some Tylenol from her toiletry bag near the sink, which he took gratefully, then reached over and flushed the toilet. He would have felt embarrassed for vomiting in front of her, except he was currently blaming her for the whole goddamn mess, and, kiss notwithstanding, he was pretty pissed off at the moment.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asked weakly, wiping his face and mouth with the wet washcloth.

 _And why are you only in a towel?_

But he didn't ask that, figuring her current attire—or lack thereof—would somehow be part of her explanation. She also looked very fetching, and his stomach clenched for an entirely different reason than his concussion. He couldn't believe he'd been kissing her not five minutes before.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious as his hooded gaze swept over her half-nakedness, Lisbon blushed and reached behind the bathroom door to retrieved the hotel robe.

"You called me?" she asked, slipping it on over the towel.

"Yes," he ground out in annoyance as he remembered how he'd felt when she hadn't answered.

"Well, I guess we've both had an adventure. After you left, I waited thirty minutes, like we agreed. I went back to the other motel parking lot where I'd left my car about a half-block away, but the damn thing had been towed. According to the manager, I needed a permit to park there as a motel guest. Since I knew you were waiting for me at the casino, I decided to deal with the car later and get a cab. Apparently there's a big convention in town, and I couldn't find one to save my life. So, I jogged nearly two miles in the 95 degree November heatwave, arriving at the casino sweating like a pig with a blister on my foot from those damn sandals. Plus, the whole way, I had the funny feeling I was being followed."

"Did you see who it was?" Jane asked, frowning in concern.

"No," she said. "Anyway, when I passed through the casino, I didn't see you, so I figured I had time to run up to my room and shower and change out of these sweaty clothes and shoes. The second I got into my room, I took out my Glock and tossed my purse onto my bed. When I took off my wig, I looked like a drowned rat, so I decided to wash my hair too. You must have called while I was in the shower. I'd just turned off the water when I heard someone opening the door to my room. I knew it couldn't be the maid because I'd put out the Do Not Disturb. I'd been in such a hurry that I hadn't turned on the room lights, so I turned off the bathroom light too, grabbed my gun, and slipped out. I saw a dark figure creeping into my room, and, given my suspicions about being followed, I decided to hit first and ask questions later. The rest you uh, know." Of course she was thinking of their passionate kisses on the floor, and she blushed, feigning sudden fascination with the shower curtain.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"About two minutes. We should probably get you to the hospital and get you checked out."

"No. I'm already feeling better."

He didn't look any better.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Don't be," he said, his anger abating. "You did the right thing. The reason I was so frantic was because Red John knows you've left Sacramento."

"What? How?"

"I'm not sure, but I figure he's got someone on the inside of the CBI, watching us."

"A mole?" she gasped. "Dear God."

"Yeah." His sentiments exactly. "I called Cho to tell him about it, so at least they can watch what they say about you and Red John."

She nodded. "Good idea."

They were both thinking about how Red John's infiltration into the CBI could be an indicator of a much larger network of followers than they'd thought.

"If someone was following you," Jane said ominously, "they may have recognized you and followed you here."

"Dammit," she swore, just contemplating the ramifications for their plans.

"We might have to scrap this whole thing," said Jane, tossing the washcloth down angrily.

"You don't know that yet."

Jane tried to get up, and Lisbon rushed toward him to help. He stood a moment with his hands on the sink, feeling dizzy, though his stomach only roiled a little.

"Mind if I use your mouthwash?" he asked sheepishly, picking up the small bottle the hotel provided.

"Knock yourself out."

He gave her a sidelong glance at her choice of words.

"Sorry," she said, flushing. She left him to his privacy.

He gargled a good long while, then rinsed and gargled again before splashing his face with cold water. When he left the bathroom, he felt almost human again, except for the throbbing at the base of his skull.

She was there to help him onto her bed, where he stretched out with a moan the moment his head sank into the pillow.

"How did your meeting with Lorelei go?" she asked him. She settled at the end of the bed, and he focused with keen interest on the quick flash of thigh as she sat down, one leg tucked beneath her.

"Well, I'm more than welcome to join the Dark Side, I just need to kill _you_ to ensure my trustworthiness."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because they know you're the most important person in my life," he said simply. Her eyes locked with his, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh," she managed lamely. "So you have any idea what we should do now, I mean, if you have decided against the killing me part?"

"I don't know," he teased, "I felt like killing you when I was hugging your commode."

She smiled guiltily. "I can imagine."

"You must have aced pistol whipping in cop school."

"Top of my class."

They both grinned, and the air in the room seemed much warmer all of a sudden. Lisbon's hand went involuntarily to the _V_ of her heavy robe, parting it a little more while Jane's eyes darkened at the wider patch of skin she'd exposed. He knew exactly what she had on under that robe—what she _didn't_ have on. He cleared his throat nervously, forced himself to meet her eyes.

"Teresa…about earlier," he began tentatively.

"Yes?" He wondered if her pulse was racing as fast as his was.

"I guess I was a little out of it, what with the concussion and all."

"So you're blaming kissing me on head trauma?" she said with an amused smirk. Her voice only shook a little.

He was the one to blush this time. "Well, yes and no. If I say I was out of my mind when I did it, that still doesn't sound very complimentary to you, does it?"

"No. But then…what was _my_ excuse?"

She reached out, touched his knee, looked at him with such longing that it made his head swim.

"Come here," he said softly.

But her decision was taken from her when a muffled ring came from her purse, still on the other side of the bed where she'd tossed it. She stretched over his legs to reach for it, and he caught the sash of her robe, toyed with it as she fished out her cell phone.

"Cho," she said into the receiver.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Jane said he called you. Are you in a place you can talk?"

"Yeah. I just got off work. I'm in the park across the street from the office. I've been calling you. Thought I'd try again."

"Thanks. So you know about the possible mole."

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked.

Lisbon glanced at Jane, put the phone on speaker. "Jane's here listening," she told him.

"Keep this quiet, Kimball," Jane answered his question. "It could be anyone."

"What about Rigsby and VanPelt?"

Lisbon's green eyes appealed to Jane, and he relented. "I think we can trust them," said Jane. "But no one else. There's no telling how far Red John has infiltrated the CBI. Until we get back, just tell Wayne and Grace to watch what they say at work."

"Boss?"

"I agree," she confirmed, being Cho's actual boss. "But there's something else going on here in Vegas." She looked at Jane, and he nodded his consent. Like it or not, he realized, they might need backup. He closed his eyes and listened while she spoke.

"We may need your help. Jane's been in contact with one of Red John's people. All that crap with Jane six months ago was an act, a way to catch Red John's attention so Jane could infiltrate his organization. Only trouble is, I'll have to die to make it happen…"

She went on to tell her number one everything, including how Red John very likely was on to her. "When Jane and I come up with a plan, we'll let you know about it. Be on standby to maybe fly out here at a minute's notice."

"I could come there now," said Cho.

"Too suspicious if Lisbon's gone, and then you all of a sudden disappear," said Jane. "He's watching everything, remember that."

"Okay," said Cho. It was obvious he didn't like this plan one bit. His boss was possibly in trouble, and he was forced to keep his hands tied and his mouth shut. Being proactive was definitely more in his nature.

They hung up, Lisbon agreeing to keep in close contact.

"So now what?" she said to Jane.

"We tell Red John the truth."

Her heart gave thump. "Which truth?"

He grinned. "Now you're thinking like a conman. The truth that you came looking for me from Sacramento on your own accord, that I didn't send for you or make contact with you. But now you're here, and you're trying to get me to come back with you."

She thought about this a moment. "You're putting me in competition for Red John's affections. Upping the ante."

"Yes. Hopefully this makes him fight harder to woo me."

"I'm not sure I want to be caught up in some sick love triangle with you and a serial killer, especially one who wants me dead. Why wouldn't he just kill me and knock out the competition?"

"Because he wants me to choose _him_. If he kills you, he knows he's lost me for good. But if _I_ am the one to kill you…"

"Well, that puts us back to where we started, doesn't it? How does this solve the problem of your actually having to kill me?"

"I haven't worked all that out yet," he admitted. "But it does solve one more immediate problem: it saves you from being killed by Red John. He finds out I've been lying to him, he might actually kill us both. Right now, he must see you as an annoyance, a distraction from his current game with me. But if I explain the new rules, he'll be all in, and you'll be safe."

"Safe?" she repeated in disbelief. "No one is safe around that devil. But aren't you forgetting something? He knows I'm with the CBI, that I would do whatever it took to have him arrested. He's not going to take the chance that I call in the cavalry—"

"He's not afraid of that," Jane countered. "He's gotten away with this so long, he's become complacent. He believes he will never be caught. No, his primary concern right now is winning me over." Jane's eyes widened in sudden epiphany. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

"Teresa, my dear, you have just helped me to plant the seeds of a plan. I'll need a bit to work everything out in my mind, but I think this could be the answer."

To her surprise, he sat up beside her, swung his feet slowly to the floor, one end of her robe belt still in his hand.

"You should rest, Jane. Or, better yet, go to the doctor—"

"I'm fine. The Tylenol is kicking in."

She felt a slight tug on her belt, and as she looked at the hand that held it, she was reminded of a book she'd read in high school, where a man described the connection with his lover as an invisible string that tied them together. Lisbon realized it wouldn't take much effort for Jane to pull her closer to him, perhaps to continue what they'd started on the floor. And she knew she would go to him gladly. It had always been that way, this control he had over her, an invisible thread that had drawn her to search for him, to follow him to Vegas, that made her come to his aid or at his whim whether he'd asked her not. But she had deep doubts about how strong her hold was on _him_.

He had once said he would always save her, but had he really meant it? Did he feel that same pull that she did, that strong, internal link that she felt for him? She couldn't answer that yet, so, for her own self-preservation, she pulled the belt from his hand and rose from the bed.

"I should get dressed," she said. "Let you grow those seeds, or harvest your plan, or however you want to continue that lame metaphor."

"Teresa," he beckoned, but she couldn't look into his eyes, otherwise that invisible string would become inexorably tied in knots. Good thing he couldn't really read minds; that was the lamest metaphor of all.

A/N: Thanks again for reading. A longer chapter next time, I promise J


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Normally, I like to answer each and every review, but I've been so busy that any extra time goes to writing. I hope you know how much I appreciate them, and I do take the time to read every one. They are an endless source of inspiration. Thank you. In this chapter, a lot of stuff happens, but I hope you bear with me, because there is a method to my madness…

 **Chapter 5**

"There's something I have to confess, Lorelei, and I'm not sure your boss is going to like it much. But if I am to gain his trust, I feel compelled to be honest." He took a deep breath, hoping the dramatic pause wasn't too much.

"Teresa Lisbon followed me here from California."

Lorelei's face remained blank, and she sat patiently back in the casino's restaurant booth. "Go on," she prompted.

"I swear, I didn't call her, haven't been in touch with her for months. After I was fired, I thought I had made a clean break from her and the CBI, but little did I know she has been looking for me all this time."

"What does she want?" Lorelei asked calmly.

"She wants me to go back, says she could make it so everything is forgiven. I guess their closed case numbers have gone down, and they need my help…"

Lorelei smirked. "Oh come on, Patrick. Teresa is here because she is in love with you."

Jane didn't need to act his reaction to that statement. Sure, he would have been blind to ignore her obvious feeling for him, but _love?_ He always thought she thought of him as an annoying older brother, or maybe a close, _annoying_ friend. Of course, he knew his own feelings ran much deeper, and since he'd kissed her earlier, he had felt her kiss him back. Passionately. But _love?_ The very possibility made him feel warm all over, made his heart skip a beat. And just like that he knew that Lisbon would forever be in mortal danger, because Red John knew his greatest weakness.

"No," he managed carefully. "I don't think so."

She rolled her eyes, as if she had been personal witness to his years-long relationship with Lisbon. "Please. If you can't see that, I don't know how you ever made a living as a psychic. But I think you do know. I'm disappointed, Patrick; I thought you were going to be honest with us."

"What she feels for me is irrelevant," he said coldly. "I want nothing to do with that old life anymore. I've started all over before; it won't be that difficult to start again. Maybe I'll get it right this time. As for Lisbon, her being here will save me a trip to California."

"Did you hear that?" Lorelei suddenly asked a button on her lapel. She reached up and tapped the nearly invisible ear piece in her right ear. She listened, eyes still on Jane, then nodded. "Ok. I'll tell him."

"He's been listening," stated Jane, and he supposed he wasn't really surprised. But it scared him a little that he'd missed it.

"Yes," she replied offhandedly. "You have twenty-four hours to kill Teresa Lisbon, or _we_ will take care of her. And you as well, Patrick, I'm sorry to say."

Jane felt a jolt to is heart, but in jarring contrast, Lorelei smiled.

"Just as we talked about before, we'll need to see the body." She slid a slip of paper across the table. "Call this number when it's done."

"Ok. I'll do what needs to be done."

Lorelei rose from the table. She paused near him, then leaned down to kiss him softly on the mouth, her hand resting on his shoulder. "We'll all be together soon, Patrick. It will be so worth it."

Jane didn't watch her go, but a new wave of nausea came over him.

He knew it wasn't just from the concussion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Officer Earl Madison, please," Lisbon said into her burner phone. "I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon." She was put on hold, and she waited impatiently, pacing from the window of her hotel room to the bathroom door and back again. She tried to avoid looking at the indentation in the pillow where Jane had recently lain, but she would catch herself staring at the bed before she forced her gaze to skitter nervously away.

She wasn't sure Jane's plan was sound, mainly because there were still too many variables, too many things that had to go right for everything to work. For one thing, she needed the cooperation from her old friend in the Las Vegas Police Department. She would have to lie to him, would probably have to depend on Cho to lie for her.

"Madison here," came the deep voice on the phone. "Teresa?"

"Yeah. Hi, Earl. How are you?"

"Good. You find your friend?"

"Yeah. Thanks so much for directing me here."

His voice brightened. "You're in Vegas?"

"Yes. Staying at the Crimson Hat. Unfortunately, this isn't a social call. I need your help again. This time it's for official CBI business. I hadn't been made aware of it when I spoke to you before, but Patrick Jane has been in Vegas all this time, deep undercover. My boss, Cho knew of it, but didn't bother to tell me, so I sort of stumbled into the middle of things here, screwed stuff up a little."

"Well that sucks," said Earl sympathetically. "What can I do to help?"

"We've come up with a plan that might save the mission." She took a deep breath, praying that opening this particular door wouldn't be a mortal mistake. "Have you ever heard of the serial killer named Red John?"

There was an ominous pause, then he said: "California is our next-door neighbor, so we hear stuff here from time to time. A real sicko, painting smiley faces in his victims' blood. Jesus. That's what this is about?"

"Yeah. We're this close to getting him, but we need to obtain a body, just for a little while. You'll get it right back."

"A body? You mean a corpse?"

"Yeah. A female one. You have any Jane Does hanging around in your morgue?"

"Holy shit, Teresa. You've got to be kidding me."

"No. I wish I were. Look, you can call Agent Cho, confirm all this, but the CBI would really like to keep this off the radar. I know it's a jurisdiction problem, but we would quietly take the killer out of Nevada with no one the wiser. His base is in California anyway, so no one in Vegas would need to know about this besides you."

"You realize I could lose my job for this."

"I know. But on the bright side, I would guarantee you a job in California if that happens. Look, this is personal for me. He's killed friends of mine, killed innocent women and children. My team and I have been tracking this monster for years, and this is the biggest break we've ever had. Trouble is, he's powerful. Has eyes everywhere. One slip and Jane and I could end up dead too."

"I don't know, Teresa. This isn't—"

"Earl, please. I'm not just asking this for me. Do it so we stop this guy from killing again. Trust me; you don't want to see any bloody faces on any Vegas walls."

There was a charged silence on both ends of the connection, before she heard his sudden sigh of resignation.

"Okay. It just so happens we found a Jane Doe in an alley two days ago. Her face was practically blown off."

"Dear God."

"Yeah. Definitely not pretty. Will that do?"

"Actually, Earl, I think that would be perfect."

"I just want you to know, Teresa, that I'm doing this for you. And after this is all over, let me take you out to dinner. For old time's sake."

"Sure, Earl. I'd love to."

It was the least she could do.

"Great. And I'll get it back, right? The Jane Doe? No additional harm done?"

"Of course. We'll treat her with the deepest respect. We couldn't save _her_ , but maybe she's looking down and seeing that her death will allow us to prevent countless more."

"That's a nice thought, Teresa. You're a good person."

She frowned. _Oh, Earl. If only you knew._

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

"In my hotel room. I figured, since you work security here, you'd be able to manage that somehow without drawing too much attention. I'll talk to my partner and get back with you on the details."

"Ok, Teresa. Looking forward to hearing from you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane knocked on Lisbon's door, this time very loudly. He saw no reason to hide her location now, given that Red John knew she was here. He felt her presence on the other side of the door, saw her shadow pass in the crack beneath it. He waved, also making sure she could clearly see his face through the peep hole. She opened the door, wigless, and let him in.

"Hey," she said. She noticed his paleness, saw him flinch as he moved his head a certain way. "You okay?"

He shrugged, then blanched again. "It'll pass. So, you find a body?"

"Yeah. Woman in the Vegas morgue with a GSW to the face."

"Ew."

"Unfortunate for that poor soul, but I think it works in our favor," she said.

Jane nodded. "Yes. Can we count on your cop friend's discretion?"

"I think so. I had to tell him it was about Red John."

Jane didn't like that much, but he saw how the cop might have needed some pretty strong encouragement. He watched her for a moment from the edge of the bed, saw her blush at his attention. Hmm. There was something else on her mind. Maybe it was their kiss, but maybe it was something else too.

"He's doing this for you, isn't he? It's personal"

"Well…" She looked guiltily away.

Then he grinned, but the usual sparkle didn't quite touch his eyes. "You had a thing with this guy, didn't you?"

"That's none of your business," she said, turning to avoid him by looking out the window.

He didn't quite know how he felt about this. Sure, he'd known of her little flings over the years—the on and off thing with Walter Mashburn came to mind-and he'd accepted that, though it pained him to think of it. But Lisbon deserved happiness wherever she could find it, and he had always believed it couldn't be with him. He wondered why he was letting it bug him so much now, this Vegas cop, to hear of a past dalliance with a man who found her so unforgettable that he'd risk his job to find a corpse for her. Jane admitted to himself that he was jealous—no, _envious_ —that this man had had a part of her that he might never experience himself.

Except now he'd had a taste of her, and he wasn't sure if he could stop himself from doing it again, or from taking it further. Lorelei and Red John already seemed to know how he felt about Lisbon, so that excuse had flown out the window. Now, if he could just overcome his other fears.

He cleared his throat softly, tried to inject humor into the situation.

"I can see why he'd do it," he teased. "Guess it's the cop equivalent of putting a frog in your pocket, or your pigtails in the inkwell."

She glanced at him, and her eyes sparkled briefly, one enticing dimple appearing on her cheek. "Or maybe putting a pony in my office," she said wryly.

Jane felt his face warm with pleasure, along with something else. "Now that's an inspired idea."

Perhaps she wasn't so oblivious to his feelings after all.

He felt a sudden wave of tiredness, an overwhelming desire to lie down. Lisbon caught his expression, noted his paleness.

"You should take a nap," she told him. "It'll be a while yet before Earl can bring the body here."

But he had already stretched out on her bed. "What will you do?" he asked.

"I brought a book to read on the plane. I'll read and keep watch. You sleep. I'll wake you if something happens, or after four hours, which is what you're supposed to do with concussion victims."

"Okay," he said groggily, and she smiled when he didn't argue. She rose and lovingly untied and removed his shoes, setting them quietly on the floor before unfolding the extra blanket at the foot of the bed and laying it gently over him. He was already too out of it to stop her. On impulse, she kissed his cheek, and he smiled a little at the feel of her warm lips on his prickly skin.

"Sleep tight," she whispered.

"Hmmm."

She watched him for a long time before she got her book from the nightstand drawer, fully intending to read in the chair by the window. But she found her eyes drawn to his sleeping form on her bed, and soon her eyelids drifted shut, her own steady breathing matching his.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

 ** _Several hours later._**

Lisbon tried not to let claustrophobia overtake her. It was dark beneath the towels and bedding piled on top of her in the rolling laundry bin. Dressed in the gray coveralls of a maintenance man, Earl was pushing her from her room and down the hallway toward the freight elevator. She'd taken the place of the corpse that he'd brought to her room in this very canvas bin, and she tried not to imagine she could smell the scent of death in the tight enclosure.

But when she closed her eyes, she couldn't help seeing the body of the poor murdered woman who now lay on her bed, dressed in her clothes and blonde wig above her faceless head (necessary because the woman's hair had been red).

When Earl had removed the body bag, she'd forced herself to look critically at the deceased.

"This could be a problem," she said, frowning.

"What?" asked Jane.

"It looks like she was killed with a sawed-off shotgun. That makes a hell of a lot of noise."

Earl nodded. "It does seem hard to believe you would kill her here and take such a risk."

"You think Lorelei would know about such things?" asked Lisbon.

"Yes," said Jane. Something told him Lorelei knew her way around weapons and dead bodies. She had the face of an angel, he thought, but the eyes of a killer. And she was working for Red John, so he could take nothing for granted.

"I'll handle any questions," said Jane.

Earl and Lisbon looked at one another, and Jane felt the unfamiliar pang of jealousy. Officer Madison was a tall, handsome man, with dark hair and brown eyes. His physique was muscular and fit, and Jane could see what Lisbon might have seen in him. Jane also instantly hated the way he looked at Lisbon, but Jane hid it well with his usual pleasant smile as they shook hands in introduction.

"You sure?" asked Lisbon doubtfully.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it."

As Lisbon helped Earl with the body, the reality of what they were doing hit her, and Lisbon worked hard to tamp down her nausea. Jane had had to leave the room, while she and Earl put some finishing touches on the crime scene, splattering the fake blood Earl had thoughtfully provided on the walls and pooling it on the pillow beneath Jane Doe's head.

Lisbon and Earl had seen enough crime scenes to understand how such a gunshot would work on the surroundings, and they were particular about the accuracy. If this didn't fool Lorelei, or any other of Red John's goons, they were seriously up shit creek. Jane had said he didn't expect Red John himself to make an appearance, so it was unlikely they'd be able to trap the killer there and simply arrest him.

"I guess this will have to do," said Lisbon, after washing her hands in the bathroom.

"I hope so," said Earl skeptically, but he didn't say anything negative.

"Hey," she said, reaching up to touch his face. "Thanks for this. You really are going above and beyond."

Earl's boyish, slightly crooked smile was as charming as she remembered. His warm brown eyes had once made her forget for a while another pair of eyes, blue- green and full of mischief. That's what had gotten her into bed with Earl, she recalled. Well, that and several shots of tequila.

"You'll make it up to me at dinner," said Earl slyly, and bent to kiss Lisbon on the cheek. The gesture was sweet, but Lisbon felt nothing, and she knew her date with Earl wouldn't go beyond dinner.

As Lisbon climbed into the laundry bin, she prayed this would all pay off, that it would lead to Jane's infiltrating Red John's organization, that she would be waiting in the wings to arrest the bastard before Jane committed murder. He'd made her no promises on that score, but he'd been clear enough of his intentions in the past.

She felt the bumps as Earl pushed the laundry bin into the freight elevator, felt the floor drop as they zipped down to the first floor loading bay. From there, Earl would take her by truck to a safe house he'd arranged for her. She'd wait there until Jane called her on the burner phone he had given her.

"You okay, Teresa?" Earl asked softly in the elevator. She let out her breath, having remained quiet in case someone else had been in the elevator with them.

"Yeah. Sorta stuffy in here, though."

"I can imagine," Earl said sympathetically.

For authenticity, she'd left her purse, her personal phone, her suitcase, and all the belongings she'd brought with her back in her hotel room with her dead alter ego. Even her Glock. She'd have to ask Earl if he could get her another weapon.

The elevator door slid open, and the slight squeaking of the wheels resumed again as Earl pushed her down the hall toward the loading bay.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"This is Patrick Jane," he said into the phone as he waited in the stairwell of the eleventh floor. "It's done."

"Where is she?" asked Lorelei.

"In her hotel room."

"How do you expect to get a body to us from a crowded hotel room, Patrick?" She didn't sound too happy.

"The opportunity presented itself," said Jane, "and I couldn't pass it up. Just come up here and confirm, and your boss can tell me the next step."

"Hold on," she said. The line sounded dead for a few moments as Jane was put on hold. His heart was pounding in his chest at the gamble he had taken. He hadn't done exactly what he'd been told, but he had to be able to pull off this ruse on his terms to cover up the lie. If Red John sensed a trick, if he didn't go for it, all his work would be for nothing.

As he was taken off hold, Red John's raspy, high-pitched voice filled his ear. Jane's blood ran cold at the sound that had filled his nightmares.

"You wouldn't be trying to trick me, would you Patrick?"

"Of course not," Jane replied, hoping Red John couldn't hear his accelerated breathing. "I'm done with games. I did what you asked, now I just want to get the hell out of this place." It wasn't difficult to inject a little panic into his tone.

"Calm down, Patrick. I'll have Lorelei come up to Agent Lisbon's room to evaluate your handiwork. Meet her in the hotel lounge in twenty minutes."

He disconnected and Jane hesitated. This was cutting it short. He peered through the square window of the stairwell door, where he had a direct line of sight to Lisbon's hotel room door. He hadn't told Lisbon about this part of the plan, but once she'd mentioned the problem with the corpse's gunshot wound, he knew he'd had to do something.

Jane paced back and forth on the eleventh floor landing, glancing every thirty seconds through the window. He glanced at the time on his phone. Five minutes after Red John had hung up, he saw the maid make her way down the hallway, her hands filled with towels. He'd told her to use her pass key to bring them in, that he was showering.

When the door closed behind her, Jane began to count. At ten, he heard a blood-curdling scream.

With a satisfied smile, he trotted down the eleven flights of stairs to meet Lorelei.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You can come out now," Earl said, after Lisbon had ridden, hunched down in the back of the laundry service van for several miles. She got up and walked, hunkered down from the low ceiling, to the front of the van and sat in the passenger's seat. She saw that they had left the city and were now driving into the desert.

"Where are we going, exactly?" she asked, clicking on her seatbelt.

"There's a new housing addition east of town, still under construction except for one model home. It's the only house hooked up to electricity and water. My sister's husband is the construction foreman. I went by for a visit and stole the key."

"Oh," she said, and a mile later, he turned off the highway onto an eerily empty street. It was like a ghost town, with some homes seemingly completed, while the skeletons of others bleached like old bones in the hot sand. The only landscaping consisted of cacti and brush. No workers were in sight, though a loan Port-a-Potty sat in the middle of the street.

"These are spec homes," he explained. "In the current housing market, there's not any money to continue, so construction's been halted for the foreseeable future. No one should bother you here for now. The house is fully furnished, but I stopped and got you a few groceries."

"Thanks, Earl. I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me."

"You're worth it, Teresa," he said fondly, and he reached out and touched her bare arm. His touch made her shiver, but not in the way she suspected he would have liked.

 _He's just not Jane_ , she said to herself.

He stopped at the end of a cul-de-sac and pulled up into the driveway of a single-family, Spanish-style, split-level house. The roof was even tiled in terra cotta.

"Here we are," he said, then hopped out of his side of the van. She joined him at the front door and he unlocked it, then disarmed the alarm with a security code he seemed to know by heart. Inside the house it was like an oven, the air still, dust moats stirring as they entered. Earl immediately went to the thermostat to crank up the air conditioner.

Lisbon took the bag of groceries and went into the kitchen to unpack. Milk. Bread. Lunch meat. Cereal. Eggs. A few frozen dinners. He joined her in the kitchen.

"So," he said, "I'll go back to the casino. Call me when Jane is done with the body and I'll pick it up. You think you'll be all right here?"

She looked around at the cold, designer furnishings and shrugged. It was obvious no one had ever lived here.

"This is great, Earl. Really. I can't thank you enough."

He bent and kissed her on the cheek. "You're very welcome."

She watched him stride back to the foyer, pausing by the door to re-engage the alarm system.

"What's the code?" she asked curiously.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be back before you know it. See you later, Teresa," he said with that crooked grin. "Start thinking about what kind of restaurant you want to go to when this is over. The sky's the limit."

She chuckled. "I will. And you'll bring me a gun?"

"Sure thing."

And then she was alone.

She took out her phone, saw there were no messages from Jane. What's more, she was dismayed to see there was no cell service. She ran to the door to see if she could catch Earl, but the alarm system stopped her. The last thing she wanted right now was for the police to come. She watched through the front window as the van drove away, and she tried to tamp down her sudden misgivings.

"Don't screw this up, Jane," she said aloud to the emptiness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

"I screwed up," said Jane breathlessly to Lorelei.

"What?" she said, as he joined her at their usual booth.

"A maid came. I'm sure she called the cops."

"Wait. Slow down, Patrick."

He explained how he was just about to come down to meet her when he saw a maid use a key and enter Lisbon's room. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, wiping at the sweat on his brow.

"I killed her," he said, sotto voce. "Lisbon. She's dead on her bed, and they're gonna know I did it."

Just then, a pair of security guards hurried past them to the elevator. They could hear reference to a victim on their Walkies.

"See?" he said frantically.

Lorelei remained cool and calm and Jane could see why Red John kept her working for him. "You _did_ screw up," she said wryly.

"Come on. Let's go. I'm sure Red John will want to talk to you in person about this."

"I didn't want this to happen," said Jane as he followed her toward the elevator. When the door opened, she pressed the Garage level.

"I figured you would help me hide the-the body."

"That was the plan. But it sounds like plans have changed. Red John told me trouble tends to follow you."

"You sound like Lisbon," he said. Then his face fell. "Like she _used_ to sound."

As they left the elevator, Jane hid his smile as he followed her to a sleek black Towncar.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was nothing to read in the model home, but at least there was a television. It had only a digital antenna connection, but it enabled her to at least watch local channels. She filled a bowl with cereal and milk, sat on the uncomfortable white couch and flicked on the flat screen. She tuned in to an old sitcom, but at her second bite of cereal, breaking news scrolled across the bottom of the screen. She leaned forward, squinting at the TV.

 _A maid discovered a body in the Crimson Hat Casino Hotel. More details as they become available._

"Dammit, Jane!" she said, over a mouthful of Frosted Flakes.

This was not good. Not good at all.

 **A/N: I promise, more romance to come next chapter. Hope to see you back again soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I know some of you questioned Lisbon's behavior in the last chapter, but my only explanation is, she trusted Earl, and didn't want to jeopardize Jane's plan to become a part of Red John's network. Her spidey senses are definitely tingling however, and hopefully you will appreciate where I'm going in this chapter. My heartfelt gratitude again for all the amazing reviews you've been blessing me with. You guys rock.

 **Chapter 6**

Luther Wainwright looked around the table at what remained of his Serious Crimes Unit, his heart heavy. It was just before quitting time, and he'd received a call from a Chief Warren Two Guns from the Las Vegas Police Department. Wainwright was a little in shock at the horrible news from the chief, and dreaded having to inform the team. He took a deep, steadying breath.

"What's up, Boss?" asked Rigsby, his brow furrowing in concern.

"I'm afraid it's about Agent Lisbon. Apparently her body was found by a maid in a Las Vegas hotel room."

Van Pelt gasped, her hand going to her mouth.

"What?" said Rigsby.

Cho listened quietly, though his heart was pounding, his mind racing.

"Everything is preliminary," Wainwright continued, "but the body of a woman was found on the bed, shot in the face. Lisbon was registered as the only occupant of the room, her personal belongings, weapon, and CBI ID were all found intact in the room. For some reason, she was wearing a blonde wig. Now, there was some speculation about the strangeness of the crime scene. Local PD believes the woman was killed somewhere else, brought to Lisbon's hotel room, then staged with fake blood to look like the murder was committed there. Lividity indicates she'd been dead about two days. I'm waiting to hear if her fingerprints match Lisbon's."

By then, tears were coursing down Van Pelt's pale cheeks, and Rigsby had pulled her rolling chair gently to his. She leaned against him while he patted her back gently, crying quietly.

"What was she doing in Vegas?" asked Rigsby, his own eyes bright with emotion.

"Well, this might explain it." Wainwright turned around the laptop on the table before him to show the picture frozen on the screen. It was Patrick Jane leaving Lisbon's hotel room and walking toward the stairwell. The team leaned forward in their chairs. The curly hair and familiar suit gave them no doubt it was Jane. Wainwright forwarded it a few minutes ahead until the maid could be seen with her bundle of towels.

"Another funny thing. The rest of the hallway surveillance footage from today was completely wiped."

"The police are saying Jane did this?" said Van Pelt in disbelief. "No way."

"We were all witness to how off balance Jane was six months ago," said Wainwright. "He's been in hiding all this time. Maybe he's gotten into some stuff he didn't want Lisbon to be a part of. And when she found him…well…this footage is pretty damning."

"No," said Cho. "I just talked to him this morning. He and Lisbon were fine. The body can't be Lisbon's."

Three sets of eyes skittered to Cho in surprise.

Wainwright nodded, as if something suddenly clicked. "Well, that explains that little mixup with Chief Two Guns of Las Vegas PD. He'd had his secretary call this office, looking for the Agent in Charge. The chief was surprised when I told him my name wasn't Cho."

"I spoke to him too, yesterday," Cho confessed.

"Maybe you'd better tell us everything you know, Agent Cho," said Wainwright coldly.

With much trepidation, Cho did.

Naturally, everyone was pretty pissed off at him.

"Jane faked his whole breakdown to get to Red John?" said Van Pelt, outraged.

"Yeah."

"Why couldn't you tell us, man?" said Rigsby, his voice heavy with betrayal.

"Lisbon told me to keep it quiet. I respected her wishes."

"How do you explain Lisbon's apparent death then?" asked Wainwright. "Do you know anything about what's going on with this body?"

"No."

"I don't believe you," said Wainwright.

A rare flash of anger lit Cho's dark eyes.

"I was as shocked as you to hear about it," said Cho, nodding to the laptop screen.

He wouldn't stoop to defending himself more. He'd done what Lisbon had asked him to, out of both his loyalty to Lisbon as his boss and his loyalty to her as a friend. Everyone who mattered would believe him.

"Cho wouldn't lie about something like this," said Rigsby matter-of-factly. "As pissed as I am right now, I know he would have told us if he thought something was really wrong."

"He would," agreed Van Pelt. Her color had returned since Cho's assurance that the body couldn't be Lisbon's. Cho nodded in appreciation of his friends' support.

"Now what?" asked Cho.

"We go to Vegas to give some insight into the local investigation," said Wainwright. "Obviously, someone wanted to make it look like Lisbon was dead, and they're setting Jane up for it. And if Red John is involved, we'll impress upon Vegas PD that we are best qualified to take over the case. The FBI will want to be in on this too, of course."

The others groaned internally.

"We can handle this, Boss," said Rigsby. "Why bother getting the Feds involved if Vegas allows us to help with the case?"

"Look, the FBI is watching us. We need to be open about everything, especially any new Red John developments. I'll notify Susan Darcy of what's going on. Meantime, Van Pelt, make our plane reservations. We want to be in Vegas as soon as possible."

They rose from the conference table, but Wainwright stopped Cho. The others went about their business, but glanced nervously back at their friend.

"There will be consequences for your secrecy, Cho," said Wainwright quietly. "I'm not sure what yet, but I need you in Vegas. Can I trust you to be straight with me from now on?"

"Yes sir," said Cho with appropriate deference.

"Good."

As Wainwright left, Cho met Rigsby's eyes across the room. Their expressions were equally bleak.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane sat in the back seat of the Towncar with Lorelei, a buzzcut hulk of a man in a dark suit and sunglasses their driver. They were all quiet as they drove out of Las Vegas proper, farther into the wildness of the desert. Lorelei had spent a good ten minutes on the phone speaking to Red John, Jane assumed, though he couldn't hear what was spoken on the other end, and Lorelei only answered in succinct sentences that gave away nothing of the true conversation. She hung up with a smile at Jane, and a reassuring pat on his knee.

"It's okay. Red John has taken care of everything for you. He's so thoughtful in that way." She leaned forward and spoke to the driver: "Go to Joshua."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Jane lifted an eyebrow. "Joshua?"

She smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

Soon they came upon what looked like an oasis, a newly constructed housing addition appearing blurry in the heatwaves of the horizon. Hulk turned down a quiet paved road past a sign announcing Joshua Tree Estates. It was immediately apparent that no one was living in the neighborhood, and Jane looked curiously out the window at the languishing construction.

At the end of the cul-de-sac, the car drove into the empty driveway of a completed house.

"Nice place. Why are we here," Jane asked.

"Since you are now a fugitive from the law, this is your temporary safe house. You'll stay here until Red John can meet you."

Jane's stomach did a little flip in a mixture of relief and excitement.

 _He believed me. I'm in._

It took all he had not to laugh out loud.

Lorelei took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Here you are at last, Patrick. The first step toward your new life."

She leaned over and kissed his mouth. He kissed her back, but his thoughts were with Lisbon, hoping with all his heart that Earl Madison had gotten her someplace safe.

Lorelei pulled away, her eyes glassy with desire. She caressed his cheek.

"Red John has such great plans for you."

Then she pulled away from him and reached for the door. "Let's go in."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon heard the car in the driveway and went to the front window, gingerly lifting a slat of the mini-blind. But it wasn't Earl's van, and she watched a moment as the car idled in the drive, its tinted windows hiding the occupants. Fearing she might be seen, she dropped the blind before bolting toward the kitchen and grabbing a carving knife from the cutlery block. Taking her weapon, she hurried upstairs into the master bathroom, locking the door behind her. She silently prayed that if it wasn't Earl, it would be the police, that Red John hadn't somehow found her. She thought of setting off the alarm system by opening a window, but if it was Earl in a different vehicle, she would risk blowing her whole cover. Then again, if it wasn't him—well, she hoped that help would be able to get there fast enough if the strangers tripped the alarm. An image of a smiling bloody face flashed in her mind, and she huddled to the right of the door, her heart pounding in her ears.

She heard the front door open downstairs, then a pause. After thirty seconds, there was no harsh warning from the alarm system, so maybe it was Earl after all. She waited for him to call out for her, but when she heard her name, the voice that spoke it took her back to one of the most uncomfortable moments in her life, when she'd hidden in a closet in a crappy motel room.

"Teresa! You can come out now. Patrick and I are here and everything is okay."

In the living room, Jane's heart dropped into his belly.

 _Fuck_.

"Call her," said Lorelei to Jane, her eyes now cold and businesslike.

When he didn't do as he was bid soon enough, she brought out her weapon from the back waistband of her cocktail uniform and pointed it at his head. Hulk stood at the ready near the door, his own weapon appearing in his hand.

"Call her," Lorelei repeated in annoyance.

He swallowed hard. "Lisbon!" His first try was hoarse with dread, but he cleared his throat and called her name more loudly.

In the bathroom, Lisbon considered her situation. The cops weren't coming. With a sinking heart, she realized Earl was likely working for Red John. There were no windows in the bathroom to crawl out of. The woman, whom Lisbon assumed was Lorelei, was probably threatening Jane at that moment, and it wouldn't take long for them to find her in this bathroom.

Resigned, she unlocked the door and made her way to the stairs, knife still in hand.

"Where's Earl?" she asked after immediately assessing the situation. It occurred to her then, to her horror, that they might have gotten the alarm code before they killed him.

"Teresa Lisbon," said Lorelei brightly. "I've heard so much about you."

Lisbon's frightened eyes met Jane's, saw the deep regret in his. But then her training kicked in, and she became ethereally calm. She descended the stairs, noting Hulk's gun trained on her, Lorelei's on Jane.

"I've heard about you too," replied Lisbon icily, stopping at the foot of the stairs.

"I'll bet," Lorelei said with a knowing smirk. She nodded toward Lisbon's weapon. "Drop the knife please, Teresa." Lisbon did so reluctantly, wishing she was good enough with knife throwing that she could hit Lorelei between the eyes. It made hardly a sound as it fell onto the soft carpet.

"In answer to your question," Lorelei continued, "Earl is back at the police station, I imagine," said Lorelei with a smile.

Jane's eyes widened slightly at this realization. How could he have read things so wrong?

"What are we doing here?" asked Jane. "Did your boss need a quieter place to torture us?"

Lisbon's cool was momentarily shaken. She frowned at Jane. _Why give them any ideas?_

Lorelei chuckled. "Of course not. If Red John had wanted to torture you, he could have done it in the middle of the freakin' Strip, and no one would have even noticed. No, Patrick, he wants to punish you for your deception, but he still believes in you and wants to give you a way to make things right."

"Really?" said Jane skeptically.

"Of course. Red John believes in second, and sometimes even _third_ chances."

"Lucky me."

"Definitely," said Lorelei, and suddenly, she slid the magazine out of her gun. Like a magician beginning a trick, she showed them it was empty, then put it back into the grip with an efficient _click_.

"There's one bullet left in the chamber," she said, and carefully placed the gun on the coffee table before the white couch. "In twenty-four hours, Red John expects one of you to be dead, or at lease mortally wounded. No offense, Teresa, but he'd really like that person to be you, though he understands that life doesn't always go the way we plan. And since you're a CBI agent and all, he knows that with your expertise, you have the advantage here."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other in horror, then back at Lorelei.

Jane's tone was icy. "You may as well just shoot us both now because we won't be playing your little game."

Lorelei sighed, then reached into her cleavage and took out her cell phone. Jane and Lisbon watched as she pressed a couple of buttons on the screen, then pulled up a video, the image somewhat shaky and blurry at first, probably taken with a cell phone camera.

"Red John thought you might feel this way, so he sent this to me earlier today."

She pressed the arrow for play and turned it so jane and Lisbon could see. It was the rest of their team around the bull pen conference table back at CBI Headquarters, Wainwright speaking to them about Lisbon's apparent death. After about ten seconds, the video ended, and Lorelei returned her phone to its hiding place.

"If you choose not to play, Red John will bring one of your friends into the light; the ultimate gift of freedom. I think he's leaning toward the redhead. He likes redheads."

"Dear God," said Lisbon softly, and unbidden, the image came to mind of Van Pelt, lying in a pool of blood, her pretty neck cut, her torso mutilated. Lisbon felt sick.

"You have a mole in the CBI," commented Jane.

"Yes," she said. "More than one, actually. But that's beside the point. I think you understand what's really at stake here, Patrick. It's either one of you or one of them. Red John is all about free choice in this world, but he's not above giving you a little push toward your goal of starting your new life. Like I told you, Teresa is your last tie to your old life. This will show that you really are ready."

"What if I kill Jane?" asked Lisbon. "I'm sure your boss will give me the same royal treatment he's planned for Van Pelt."

Lorelei shook her head. "No. He's promised to set you free, with no consequences for your colleagues back home. Confidentially, I think Red John admires you, Teresa. Why do you think he's let you live all this time? He told me he realizes that you care about Patrick just as much as he does, and that Patrick cares for you. He finds your relationship inspiring. So, yeah, I believe you can trust his promise to let you go, with no hard feelings."

"He's bluffing," said Jane. "There's some trick here, and I for one certainly don't trust that he'll keep his promises."

Lorelei was offended. "Red John is an honorable man. He always does what he says he'll do. And besides, what choice do you have now than to follow his rules?"

Jane glanced at the gun. "I could just kill myself, save everyone, if Red John's word holds true."

He tried to ignore Lisbon's soft gasp.

Lorelei shrugged. "I suppose you could. He didn't mention that particular contingency. He just said one of you must be dead by tomorrow. I don't think he cares how that happens. But I for one would be deeply disappointed, Patrick. After all, you've gone on after losing your family without killing yourself; I would hate to see you waste all your potential like that. You are destined for much greater things, I know it."

She began to move toward the door, Hulk's gun still pointed in their direction.

"So, you're just going to leave us here to work this out, eh?" said Jane.

"Like all of life, this is a test. I really hope you pass it."

Shielding herself from view, she quickly tapped in the alarm code to arm it. "And don't think about trying to leave. Red John will know. The alarm will summon him, not the police. It'll be best for everyone if you just play by the rules. I hope to see you tomorrow, Patrick. Teresa, nice meeting you."

The door clicked shut behind them, and a minute later, they heard the car back out of the driveway and pull away down the empty street.

Alone, Lisbon and Jane looked at each other, at first with nothing to say. She figured they were both in shock.

"Lisbon—" Jane began, stepping toward her.

She brought up a hand. "Don't. We're both equally to blame for where we are. Let's just figure out how the hell we're going to get out of this. First though, I need a pick-me-up."

She strode purposefully to the kitchen, opening cabinets in search of something to drink. It would have been nice to have found some scotch, but a can of coffee was the best she could find. She filled the coffee maker on the counter. "There's some orange pekoe in here too," she said, setting the small box of Lipton's near the coffee tin.

Jane couldn't find a tea kettle, so he heated some water in a saucepan.

The everyday tasks seemed to calm them, and soon they were both leaning against the counter, mugs in hand.

"Well, we know that the team back home knows about my _death_ ," said Lisbon, sipping her dark brew. "I wish we could have seen more of that video, to find out if they know I'm not really dead, and what they're planning to do."

"I think Cho will have figured it out. I'll bet they are on their way out here as we speak."

"Maybe. But how will they ever find us out here by tomorrow at this time?"

Jane was at a loss. "I totally misjudged your good friend Officer Madison."

"God, don't blame yourself. That part is definitely my fault. We weren't that close, and I made the mistake of trusting someone I didn't know well. Having a badge apparently doesn't mean anything when it comes to Red John. Those moles he has in the CBI…"

"I guess it wasn't a case of his being followed. I take it they both knew the alarm code," Jane suggested.

"Yeah," she said forlornly. "I almost wish they'd killed him rather than him being one of Red John's minions. Does that make me a terrible person?"

Jane shook his head. "Not at all. So let's agree now to stop beating ourselves up for all the mistakes we've made."

"Deal," she said, and smiled a little over her coffee. He returned her grin, but it didn't meet his eyes.

"Why is Red John doing this?" she asked.

"Why does he do anything? He likes the power trip, the control over life and death. I used to wonder why he hasn't killed me or anyone on the team, but then I realized that it's all part of the game, the cat toying with the mouse. He likes believing that he can stop playing anytime and consume me and everyone I care about. He genuinely wants me to join his cult, because that would be the ultimate victory—turning his nemesis into his slave."

She saw the sick truth in what he said, and they grew quiet again, gathering their thoughts. Then Jane began looking curiously around the house.

"No one's lived here before," he stated.

"No. It's a model home," she said, retrieving the knife from the living room floor and setting it in the sink. "Earl said they ran out of money to finish this housing addition."

She watched from the kitchen as he picked up tasteful knick-knacks around the living room, placed there for show like movie set decorations. A thought occurred to him, and he turned back toward Lisbon.

"You think the place is bugged? That maybe Red John is listening, or even watching us?"

He remembered how the killer had set up video monitors in another house he'd been to that belonged to Red John. Lisbon set down her mug, joining him as they began searching for bugs or cameras. It felt good to have something constructive to do. After a half-hour of looking, they had found nothing, and Lisbon ruled that if there were any surveillance devices present, Red John had hidden them better than she knew how to find them.

"Well that's a plus, anyway," he said, and plopped down on the firm couch. He grimaced at the lack of comfort he was used to in a couch, suddenly missing his old brown leather one at the CBI. She joined him, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She could think of nothing else to do, and she feared she'd go crazy long before Red John came for them the next day.

She opened her eyes to find Jane staring at the gun on the coffee table, and her heart squeezed in her chest.

"Don't even think about it," she said. "That is not the way to solve this."

She reached boldly for his hands and he was so surprised at her touch he turned to look at her.

"Please, you have to promise me, Jane."

"It would solve so many things," he told her seriously, his eyes bleak.

"No," she said. "It would make things worse, don't you see? I am convinced that if Red John can be stopped, you are the only person alive that can do it. And if you were to—to end things, where does that leave me? Where does that leave the scores of others he might kill before someone finally ends him, or he decides at last to stop?" She felt tears stinging her eyes, and she closed them briefly, then tried in vain to blink them away.

He reached up and wiped away one stray drop with his thumb, his fingers slipping into her hair.

"Promise me," she whispered.

"Okay," he said at length, for when she looked at him like that, he could refuse her nothing.

Lisbon felt such relief that she practically threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly, her damp face in his neck, his soft curls tickling her cheek. His arms pulled her closer, and he closed his eyes tightly, breathing her in, his heart pounding in time with hers.

She felt his first kiss against her neck, and her own pulse fluttered frantically, like a butterfly in a jar. He moved his lips along her jawline, stopping just to the side of her mouth, lingering there, as if waiting for permission. All she need do was turn her head slightly, and his lips would meet hers.

"Jane," she said, his name hitching in her throat.

She turned her head.

His mouth trembled upon hers, but this time he was not out of his mind with fear, his adrenalin not coursing coldly through his veins. His lips were warm and tentative, slow and seductive, coaxing her to open and let him inside. With a small moan, he invaded her mouth with his tongue, sliding it deftly over hers, adjusting his head to go deeper. Lisbon complied mindlessly, her body going weak with desire as he held her, his hands sliding from her hair to her back, pulling her closer still until she was practically on his lap.

For a few breathless moments they forgot about everything but the heady taste of their fused mouths, the touch of seeking hands, the scrape of blonde whiskers against soft cheeks. It was all very surreal, but at the same time, each felt as if they had been kissing for years, so right and natural did it seem to have his lips moving over hers.

She didn't know how she got there, but soon his suit coat was on the floor and she was on her back on the couch, Jane's body pressing against hers. She could feel his arousal against her stomach. His hands slid beneath her shirt, caressing her torso, then tracing the underwire of her bra. Her fingers slid into his hair as their passion rose, and she lifted her hips to meet his. He groaned into her mouth, and she felt the sudden power of her femininity, the wonder that she could excite a man like Jane with her touch.

He broke free of her lips and she gasped for air, but then he moved to her neck and her throat, kissing a trail to the first button of her blouse. She felt his hot, wet tongue settle into the sweet indentation at the base of her throat, while his fingers worked now at the buttons. In her excitement, Lisbon pressed too hard against the lump at the back of his head. He moaned again, but this time in pain.

"Oh my God, Jane, I'm so sorry," she said, belatedly remembering the injury she'd inflicted earlier. "Are you okay?"

The pain was enough to bring him back to his senses, and he sat up, easing his back against the couch, his breath coming in harsh pants. She lay where she was a moment, trying to settle down, her cheeks flushed with desire and embarrassment. She watched him close his eyes tightly against a wave of nausea.

"I'm—I'm fine. I probably shouldn't be ravaging you with a concussion."

She smiled at that. Ravaging was exactly what he was doing. Well, what they _both_ had been doing. "Sorry to have encouraged you in your condition. I guess I'm bound and determined to make you sick."

He opened his eyes and his lips formed his familiar smile, though his eyes were dark with arousal.

"Come here," he beckoned, and she sat up, snuggling into his side while his arm settled upon her shoulders. "We are constantly afflicted with the curse of bad timing."

"I didn't think you believed in such things," she said, inhaling the masculine scent of soap, cologne, and clean sweat.

His eyes settled once more on the gun not two feet away from them on the coffee table.

"I didn't use to," he admitted, "before today." He kissed her temple sweetly.

"We're going to find a way out of this. I have faith. God will show us the way, and our team won't let us down."

For once he didn't mock her faith, because a part of him longed to believe in something as strongly as she did.

"I hope you're right, Teresa," he said. "I truly do."

 **A/N: Still a lot of questions, I know, but please stay with me. More romance and intrigue ahead. Thanks again for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I can't say enough how much I appreciate your reviews, but I'll sure try. Thanks! I crammed a lot into this chapter: some M-ish rated sexytimes, humor, drama—you name it. I hope you enjoy all of it.

 **Chapter 7**

They sat at the bar in the kitchen, dining on frozen dinners and wine glasses filled with water. But neither of them had much of an appetite, and it wasn't just the grainy mashed potatoes or the chopped and formed meatloaf.

"Any ideas?" Lisbon asked, breaking the strained silence.

"Yeah. This meatloaf should be on the hazardous waste list." He tossed the half-eaten dinner into the trash, plastic sectioned plate and all.

Lisbon took a last bite of her chicken(ish) pot pie and dropped it beside his meal in the trashcan beneath the sink.

"As for our predicament, I still got nothing."

It was nighttime in the desert, and when Lisbon looked out of the kitchen window, it was like staring into a fathomless black sea. There were no stars or moon this night, and the darkness made her feel even more isolated, even more claustrophobic in this cold, sterile house. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms and turned to Jane.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to take a hot shower and try to go to sleep. It's been a long couple of days. Maybe we'll come up with something by morning."

He nodded in frustration, and she noticed how haggard he'd become. "Good idea," he said.

"You could use some sleep too, Jane. I'll take the bedroom in the southwest corner."

"I might watch some TV first to unwind. You go ahead. Good night."

She hesitated as she watched him walk tiredly to the living room, take a seat on the couch, and prop his feet up on the coffee table near the gun. Their hot kisses came to mind, and she shivered in remembrance, wondered what he would say if she asked him to join her for that shower. If they didn't come up with something to get out of this, they'd both likely be dead tomorrow afternoon, and she didn't want to leave this world never having known what it was like to be with him.

But in this at least, Lisbon lacked the courage, and she cursed herself all the way upstairs to the bathroom.

When he heard the shower stop running, Jane flipped off the television. According to the local news, he was still a fugitive and Lisbon was still dead. He sighed and made his way up the stairs. His mind racing, his thoughts travelled round and round in a pointless circle. His head injury and his lack of restful sleep were impeding his usual sharpness. Add that to the two unexpected encounters with Lisbon, and his brain was pretty well mush. He went to the en suite bathroom in the second bedroom upstairs and turned on the shower. He noticed the showroom bathroom had no soap, so he used the liquid hand soap from the sink and turn the shower on hot.

The soothing water went a long way toward relieving his achiness and reviving his spirits. He slid between the sheets of the bed naked, unwilling to put on his rumpled clothes again. He nearly moaned with relief when he stretched out and relaxed at last, his mind going pleasantly blank, save for the fleeting remembrance of Lisbon's lips on his. Five minutes later, he was asleep.

"Jane."

Lisbon's hushed voice woke him immediately, and he sat up to see her dark outline sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Lisbon? Something wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

He sighed internally. "I promise I'll think of something by morning."

"I know you will," she said, and her confidence in him unexpectedly touched his heart. He reached for her hand in the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw that she was wearing her shirt, but her legs were bare. He swallowed, completely awake now, the sensual awareness between them catching fire and heating his blood.

"I keep thinking of how stupid I was to trust Earl."

"I'm pretty good at reading people, Teresa, and even I didn't suspect anything. I figured he was just going along with my crazy plan because he wanted to rekindle his relationship with you. I couldn't blame him." He gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. She squeezed back.

"It was just the one time," she said hesitantly. "With Earl. It meant nothing. We were drunk—"

"I really don't need to hear this, Lisbon," he said tightly, although he'd actually figured out the gist of their relationship earlier.

"I should have known better than to mix business with anything personal," she continued, despite his obvious distaste. "And worse, I used my past with him to get Earl to do me a favor. Or so I thought. I feel so stupid," she repeated morosely.

"I thought we agreed it was water under the bridge now, regardless of how we got here. Now why don't you try again to get some sleep." The longer she was in his room, the more difficult it was for him not to kiss her, and the timing was certainly inappropriate for any more of that business. They both needed sleep for what would come tomorrow.

"I can't seem to calm my brain enough to fall asleep. Plus, I think I heard coyotes outside."

Jane chuckled. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a bunch of yapping puppies."

He didn't have to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes at him.

"It's not that I'm afraid, exactly. Just…creeped out. Can I—can I stay in here with you?"

His heart picked up speed. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he managed.

"I'll be good, I promise." Her voice was filled with sensual wickedness, a side of her he had never seen before but found he liked very much.

Much to his surprise, she went around to the other side of the bed and climbed in with him.

"Lisbon, I think you should know that I uh—"

Her cool foot brushed against his leg and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry," she said. "The air conditioning works really well in this place."

"Uh, yeah. So it does."

Next to him, she plumped the pillows to get comfortable, then lay beside him. She sighed, trying to relax, but Jane stared wide-eyed up at the dark ceiling, listening to the sounds of a woman settling next to him in bed for the first time since his wife had died. No way he was getting to sleep now. Oddly, the fleeting thought of Angela didn't make him feel guilty, but that in itself was disconcerting. Lisbon's scent drifted to him, the same kind of hand soap she'd had to use in her shower too, adding an additional layer of shared intimacy. What would she think if she discovered he was naked? What might she do?

All he would need to do was reach across a foot of mattress to touch her, to pull her close and let her feel for herself just how much he wanted her. His breathing accelerated, and he feared she might hear it.

The coyotes howled in the distance, and Lisbon moved closer.

"City girl," he said in amusement, though by now her proximity caused his voice to tremble.

"Shut up."

Then he felt her hand low on his stomach as she reached out to him, and he gasped, his muscles tightening reflexively.

"Lisbon," he choked out. Her hand drifted higher, sliding over his chest, settling over his pounding heart, the quick rise and fall of his chest. She moved her body even closer till she was at his side, her small hand soft and cool against his heated flesh, her nails swirling in the hair around his flat nipples. He was powerless to stop her, and his body hardened further at her touch.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked huskily.

"That depends. Is it working?"

That uncharacteristic sexiness of her tone was finally his undoing, and with a groan, he pulled her almost roughly across the short distance, simultaneously finding her mouth and covering her body with his.

He felt her shock as she realized his state of undress, felt his unfettered erection resting against her thigh. But he was already too far gone to allow her to acclimate to this new situation, his hands settling on her shoulders as he kissed her passionately, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Her knees came up to cradle him, and it took all his self-control not to embarrass himself at the incredible sensation. It had been so very long.

He unbuttoned her blouse, and nearly cried with pleasure when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra, that her naked breasts were pressing against his chest. His hands caressed her reverently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples while she gasped into his mouth. He nuzzled into her sweet smelling neck, then slid his open mouth further down upon her skin, bypassing her golden crucifix to kiss her delicate collar bone and then licked the warm valley of her cleavage. Her hands in his hair, he found her breast at last and took one tight bud into his mouth, sucking hard.

"Oh God…Jane…"

He tantalized her breasts with his teeth and tongue, raised his head briefly to rub his stubbled chin gently around her areola, delighting as she shuddered and moaned with pleasure. Meanwhile, his hands wandered down over her flat abdomen till he found the edge of her panties. He slipped dexterous fingers inside the silky garment, found her wet and aching for him. He bit back a groan of his own, wanting more than life to take her hard and fast and selfishly; but he held back, gritting his teeth for control. Slowly, he pulled off her panties, his hands skimming her incredible legs, smooth, muscular and shaking at his touch.

He returned his attention to the center of her passion, and it wasn't long until she was trembling on the brink.

"Please," she begged. "I need you."

And God, how he needed _her_ , he thought, though it had almost taken him too long to realize it.

He wished he had thought to turn on the lights so he could see her face as he joined with her. Instead, he lowered his body to hers, found her mouth and kissed her gently, somehow finding the restraint to hold back so that he could make it right for her, to try to convey what being with her meant to him.

After Angela's murder, he'd had no desire for another woman, and for some time he'd still felt married to her in his heart. As the years passed without her, he'd lived a monk's existence, partly as self-flagellation, partly in an almost superstitious fear of what moving on would mean to his desire for vengeance. Sort of like a ball player who felt compelled to go through the same ceremonial rites before each game. But Jane's religion was not in a church or on the baseball field; it was his quest for Red John. His celibacy proved his devotion and sacrifice to the cause, his obsession with finding the man heretofore unshakeable.

But kissing Lisbon had muddled up his entire belief system. When she reached down to circle the hardness of his desire, guiding him into her softness, Jane knew he had found his new reason for being. The pure pleasure of it made his mind go pleasantly blank, and he found a euphoria that vengeance could never give him.

He moved within her, slowly at first, but his long-restrained passion and her sharp cries of ecstasy spurred him to a wilder rhythm. She came undone beneath him, and the intensity of her orgasm brought him over soon after. The years of denial of his basest instincts had finally caught up with him, and he fell bonelessly upon her, breathing harshly into her neck while she trembled in aftershock. He hadn't wanted this to be a quick roll in the hay. He'd wanted to savor this, to savor _her_.

"Forgive me," he said shakily, when he could form a coherent thought. He rolled off of her and onto his back, trying still to catch his breath.

"For what?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Brevity isn't always the soul of wit," he said wryly.

She chuckled. "That's okay. I could tell it has been awhile for you."

"That bad, huh?"

"On the contrary. Did you hear me complaining?"

They lay together, their bodies cooling. Their lovemaking should have relaxed them, should have allowed a new intimacy, where they could talk about their feelings and perhaps lead them to round two. But it seemed to give them both a second wind, and their minds began to churn with possibilities of making it out of their situation alive so that they could share many more nights like this.

"Have you ever read the story, _The Most Dangerous Game?"_ Jane asked suddenly.

"Yes, in ninth grade. Why?"

"Well, it seems to me, Lisbon, that we have enough weapons and supplies in this house to rig quite a few booby traps. I'm thinking that if Red John comes tomorrow, he's not going to bring an army. Probably just Lorelei, the Hulk, maybe one or two others at most. We could set enough traps to keep them occupied, distractions to buy us some time to get the hell out of here and make it to the main road."

"The Hulk?" she asked in amusement.

"Yeah. Big guy with Lorelei. Has about the same vocabulary, too."

"Don't you think Red John will be expecting us to try something like this?"

"Maybe," said Jane, turning over on his side to face her. His hand went to her cheek, caressing it lovingly before lowering his head and lightly kissing her mouth. "Ok, probably. But the worst thing we could do is disappoint him."

"You're forgetting something though, Jane. What about the team, and the mole? Red John might have an arrangement that if the mole doesn't hear from him by a certain time, the mole kills one of ours."

"Once we get Red John into this house, the alarm goes off and we can make our escape. There's no cell phone reception here; that should buy us some time. We'll make it to a phone or to reception and try to warn them. If Red John ends up dead, the mole might not be able to carry out his orders without the boss. If we're lucky, we can steal their car."

"That's all moot though, if Red John doesn't come," said Lisbon, and he didn't have to see her face to know her brow was furrowing.

"Oh, he'll be here. He won't be able to resist. Once we get that alarm system off, the whole world opens up to us. At first light, we start using our resources."

"I don't know, Jane. There are a lot of things that can go wrong with this. Remember, they'll have guns. We've got one bullet."

"I know. I've got special plans for that bullet," he said darkly. "And since I won't be shooting you, and hopefully you won't feel compelled to shoot me-at least not tomorrow…You have any better ideas?"

"Maybe a few," she said, her voice turning husky. "Let me think about it some more."

He felt her hand skim over his hip and lower, caressing him intently. She shifted on the bed, her hair brushed his thighs, and he felt the wet warmth of her mouth.

"If you're trying to improve my, uh, my…aww…staying power, that probably isn't…ohhh…your best approach."

She hummed her reply and he let out a long moan of appreciation.

"Then again, whatever it takes for you to brainstorm, I'm all in. Necessity as they say, is the mother of…God, Lisbon…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They lapsed into a deep sleep, both from mental and sexual exhaustion. At first light, they showered separately and got down to business—actual _survival_ business. They utilized kitchen knives and other utensils, throw rugs, furniture, and even a frying pan. Jane unscrewed lightbulbs, rigged up ceiling fans, electrical cords and dish soap. It was crazy and complicated and like something out of a movie, but at last they were done to Jane's satisfaction, an hour to spare.

They hid away from the traps in the downstairs bathroom with the window, armed with the remaining knives, the gun with its single bullet, the box of cereal for a snack and the emptied jug of milk which they refilled with water for their possible escape into the desert, should the car prove out of reach.

They had a good vantage point from which to view the driveway, and once Red John and his crew were tied up with the surprises that awaited them in the rest of the house, they could slip out the window and make a run for it. Or so went the plan.

Lisbon sat on the toilet with the lid down, while Jane stretched out upon the floor, his back against the wall. He closed his eyes, trying to rest his mind and calm his nerves. His head was paining him, though it was much better than yesterday.

"So, MacGyver," she teased, "you have any ideas for a Plan B?"

He opened one eye. "Why do I always have to be the plan guy? What's _your_ Plan B, Lisbon?"

"I can make plans," she replied petulantly.

She pretended to consider the bathtub, then the tasteful beige rug on the floor.

He grinned. "Go easy on me, woman. I can't make up for nearly ten years in a day."

Her answering smile dimmed. "You mean I'm the first since your-since…"

Both blue-green eyes were open now as he regarded her solemnly. "Yeah."

She had once thought that perhaps he had been with Erica Flynn, or maybe Kristina Frye.

"Why me?" she asked.

 _Because no one else could hold a candle to Angela, except you. Because I'm madly, passionately in love with you, Teresa._

But he was still afraid to voice those thoughts aloud.

He was saved from answering when the sound of first one, then two vehicles pulled into the driveway. Lisbon stood to look out.

"Showtime," she said. But then she hesitated. "It's Earl," she said, a mixture of anger and sadness. "And…Good God, Jane, it's the team!"

"What? He got up to stand beside her. Sure enough, Susan Darcy and Earl had stepped out of the first SUV, while Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt and Wainwright exited the other.

"They don't know who he really is," said Lisbon fearfully.

"And they're all walking into a houseful of booby traps," added Jane.

In order to make it to the front door in time to warn them about Earl and the traps, Jane would have to disable several he'd set between the bathroom and the foyer.

"We could go out the window," said Lisbon. "Catch them before they go in."

"And risk Red John being alerted by tampering with it? Look how buddy-buddy they are with your friend Earl. I'm beginning to rethink a few things."

"Well, think faster, before we kill or maim one of our friends."

"We have until they get past the foyer and the alarm keypad," he said, unlocking the bathroom door. "We can make it within shouting distance.

Lisbon took the gun, following cautiously behind him.

The first trap was a few steps outside their door, a complicated system that incorporated a carpet and a frying pan, the victim of which would end up on his knees with a heavy skillet dropping from the ceiling onto his head.

Too soon, they could hear familiar voices at the door before it opened, and Earl commenting on the alarm system, then likely tapping in the code. Jane disabled the first trap, and they moved several more feet to the end of the hallway.

"Stop!" Lisbon yelled as loudly as she could, and she hoped everyone stayed still. "Nobody move!"

"Lisbon?" said Rigsby. "Where are you?"

"She sounds like she's somewhere down the hall," said Wainwright.

"Stay where you are!" she called again. "You're about to walk into a—"

Then Van Pelt let out a scream of surprise, Wainwright a yelp of pain.

"There goes my version of the Maylay Mancatcher," muttered Jane, frantically working on disabling trap number two.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Rigsby.

"Maylay Mancatcher," said Cho calmly from the foyer.

"Well, find something to cut him down with," said Susan Darcy. "There must be a knife in the kitchen."

"No!" yelled Lisbon. "Don't go into the kitchen! Hurry up, Jane!"

"I'm hurrying. I'm hurrying."

The next yell came from Earl Madison. "Sonofabitch! Jesus Christ! Get it out! Get it out!"

By then Jane had finished trap two and they could move within sight of the rest of their guests.

"Probably be best if everyone listened to Lisbon and stopped where you are," said Jane upon seeing the results of his handiwork. It was hard not to smile at his success with the booby traps, but Cho's admiration was fairly good compensation.

"Yuganda knife trap?" Cho said from the foyer, nodding to where Earl lay bleeding on the floor of the kitchen, Darcy tending to his wound with a dish towel.

"Yep," replied Jane with the barest hint of smugness.

Rigsby and Van Pelt were busy trying to get Wainwright down from where he was hanging upside down from the ceiling fan by a lamp cord. But they stopped to stare at Jane and Cho's exchange.

"What the hell is all this crap?" said Van Pelt, holding Wainwright up as best she could so he wouldn't just dangle like a fish on a line.

"Traps for unwelcome visitors," said Jane. "Now, if I were you, Rigsby, I'd be still before you step into my bear trap."

"What?" The tall agent looked down at his feet frantically.

"Just stay put, for God's sake," said Lisbon.

"Get me down right now!" said Wainwright, his face red from a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and gravity.

"Hold your horses," said Jane. "You guys have successfully found two of my traps, and I've disabled the two down the hall. That just leaves the one you're about to helpfully discover, Wayne, and which I will gladly save you from if you will kindly take two steps to your left."

The way clear, at least in her path to the kitchen, Lisbon walked over to Earl, Cho and Darcy on the floor, grimacing in spite of herself at the kitchen knife sticking out of Earl's thigh. She pointed Lorelei's gun at him.

"How long have you been working for Red John, you bastard?"

Earl looked up at her, his handsome face pale and clammy with pain and sweat.

"It's not what you think, Teresa," he said.

"Bullshit. You brought me to this place, then hours later, here come a couple of Red John's minions with Jane as captive. It might have been that they followed you, or that this was an amazing coincidence, except that his bitch Lorelei knew the alarm code to get into the place, and Red John decided we were now his prisoners. You'd better start talking, Earl, before I put this lovely bullet Red John reserved for me into your traitorous goddamn brain."

Everyone was silent now, befuddled and confused at her story, while all eyes turned to Earl.

"Earl's with the FBI," said Darcy calmly. "He's been undercover at the Crimson Hat Casino looking into a new rise of organized crime in Vegas that had some ties also to Vegas PD. Lorelei approached him about a month ago, recruited him to work for Red John."

Lisbon's eyes widened, and Jane stopped what he was doing to stare intently at the injured man.

"Helping you out and arranging this safe house was my test to get in with Red John's organization," added Earl. "Just like your test, Patrick, was to kill Teresa."

"But you were a cop with Vegas PD," said Lisbon, trying to weed out the truth from the lies.

"Yes, I was when we first met. I quietly finished my stint at Quantico about a year ago, and because of my years here in Vegas, was able to pretend to get my old job back. Chief Two Guns knows about my real mission, but nobody else on the force does. I lied and told my old coworkers I'd flunked out of Quantico. Landing a lead into the Red John case at the same time I was working the casino case was just a lucky break."

"So what, you've been like a triple agent or something?" commented Rigsby. "Cool."

"You knew about this?" she asked Darcy. "And you didn't tell us? We're the experts on Red John. We deserve to know about any breaks, if only out of professional courtesy."

"Sorry, Lisbon. But you know why we took over the Red John files. You and your team have played fast and loose with the law where that case is concerned."

"You could have told me," said Wainwright in annoyance.

Lisbon sighed in exasperation, feeling the onset of the mother of tension headaches.

Lisbon gestured with her gun at Earl. "How do we know you haven't actually been on Red John's payroll this whole time, Earl? We know that he has people working for him in law enforcement."

"What?" piped in Wainwright. "How do you know that?"

Jane, having disabled the last trap, shot a warning glance at Lisbon.

"We just know," she finished lamely to Wainwright. She looked back at Earl. "And because of that, I'm not ready to believe you yet."

"Be that as it may," said Darcy. "Agent Madison needs medical help. Cho, help me get him into the car and I'll take him to the ER back in Vegas."

"Sure," said Cho, bending to help Earl to stand on his good leg. Earl put his arms around Cho and Susan's shoulders.

Lisbon watched helplessly as one of Red John's people was being allowed to go free. She lowered her weapon in resignation.

"Wait," she said suddenly, and when the threesome stopped, she quickly frisked Earl, taking his gun and cell phone.

"Lisbon," said Darcy in warning.

"Better safe than sorry till we work this out," Lisbon said obstinately, and put Earl's gun in the back waistband of her jeans, then pocketed his cell phone.

"Fine," huffed Darcy. "But you yourself have a lot to answer for, Agent Lisbon. Mishandling a corpse, for one. Fraud too, and maybe even obstruction of justice. This could mean your badge."

Jane had remained uncharacteristically silent, though he'd retrieved another knife from the kitchen so Rigsby could cut down Wainwright. As Van Pelt and Rigsby gently lowered their boss to the floor, Wainwright cursed in pain.

"I think my freakin' ankle is broken." His eyes shot daggers at Jane, who shrugged in half-hearted apology.

"Sorry, Luther. Maybe you should catch up with Susan and head to the hospital with them to get that seen to."

As Van Pelt and Rigsby helped casualty number two out to Darcy's SUV, Jane and Lisbon looked around at the wreckage of their hours of painstaking work.

"What time is it?" asked Jane.

Startled, Lisbon looked down at Earl's phone at the clock readout. "Red John should be here in forty-five minutes."

Jane nodded grimly. "Probably sooner now, since he's probably been alerted that the alarm was turned off. Gimme the gun, please," he said, holding out his hand.

"No," she said, and watched as his eyes flashed angrily.

"This might be my only chance to get him, Teresa. I've worked on this for six long months, nearly threw everything away that I cared about to convince this bastard I was ripe for the picking. I can't give up now, not when I'm so close."

"Not even for me?" she asked, her throat tight with dread.

Jane said nothing, but his eyes told her his decision. Sadly, she wasn't surprised.

"He'll kill you if you screw him over like this," she said.

"I've always known that was a possibility." Then his eyes softened. He reached up and cupped her pretty cheek. "When he is gone, I can wholeheartedly devote my life to other things. But as long as Red John is still in the world, I'll never be free to do that."

He kissed her gently on the lips, silently willing her to understand. Helpless to resist him now, she kissed him back, the hot sting of tears behind her closed eyes. When he lifted his head, she blinked them away and placed Lorelei's gun in his hand.

"You won't be facing him alone, though, not as long as I'm around."

He smiled his old familiar smile. "I'm counting on it." He put the gun in his suit jacket pocket. "Now that that's settled, we need to get this place cleaned up before he gets here. It's Plan B time, which I am developing as we speak."

"You still think he'll come?" she asked. "What if Earl already tipped him off that the cavalry arrived?"

"I believe Earl is telling the truth," said Jane. "He's on our side."

By this time, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt had returned to the house, and they could hear Darcy backing the SUV out of the drive.

"You guys ready to go, Boss?" asked Rigsby.

"Not quite yet," said Lisbon. "Rigsby, go park the other SUV in the garage."

"Why?" asked Cho.

Jane looked at his friends, relieved beyond measure that they were all here, even though he knew it was for Lisbon and not for him.

"Company's coming," he said, patting the gun in his pocket.

 **A/N: If you've read any of my other stuff, you know I sometimes stray into silliness and absurdity, and I admit I did here, at least a little, mainly to inject a bit of comic relief into the tension. I hope you liked this chapter. More soon.**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks as always for your wonderful reviews. You truly inspire me.

 **Chapter 8**

"Lisbon, I give you, Plan B."

"You're enjoying this entirely too much," she replied.

"Strangely, yes."

Jane finished tying her to the dining room chair with the cords from two lamps, never imagining that this sort of thing would be such a turn-on. He squatted behind her, wrapping the plastic cord gently but firmly around her dainty wrists, inhaling the scent of her hair, the sable tips stirring with each breath. He moved in front of her, going down on his knees to tie her ankles to the chair legs, looking up at her adoringly. She blushed at his regard, knowing that the rest of the team were in the next room.

Finished, he put his hands on her feet. "Now," he said softly, "you are completely at my mercy."

"Jane," she admonished, though her breasts were rising and falling much more rapidly, their shape further emphasized with her hands tied behind her. It was all he could do not to cup them in his hands while ravaging her sexy mouth. He was leaning in to do just that when Rigsby emerged from the hall, carrying the remnants of the rest of Jane's traps.

Jane stood as casually as he could, putting his hands in his jacket pockets so he could better camouflage the uncomfortably full front of his slacks. Lisbon hadn't missed it, and she smirked at his predicament.

 _Serves him right,_ she thought, _for sneaking little caresses and working me up when the others were in the next room._

Rigsby grinned, oblivious to the tension between Jane and Lisbon. "Hey, Boss. You think this might be a good time to ask for a promotion?"

Lisbon's green eyes narrowed in warning, and Rigsby's smile disappeared. Jane's grin widened in proportion.

"Quit being so grumpy, Lisbon. I can completely understand Rigsby's desire to blackmail you under the circumstances. This is the most vulnerable we've ever seen you."

 _Except when you were naked beneath me a few hours ago,_ he finished to himself, and winked at her wickedly.

She blushed further, obviously thinking about the same thing.

"Well, don't do anything you'll regret, because when I get out of this, revenge will be sweet."

Jane's eyes sparkled, but he said nothing more to tease her in front of her team. He wondered, however, what vengeance would feel like exacted from her soft hands. He swallowed hard and willed his body to settle down before he embarrassed himself.

"I think we got everything," said Van Pelt, joining them in the foyer, her hands full of the household items Jane had rigged up. She stopped short to smile at Lisbon in her awkward state.

Cho came in from the garage, having hidden the SUV as instructed. He regarded Lisbon with amused eyes, though the rest of his face remained expressionless.

"Remind me why this is really necessary," Lisbon said, annoyed with the lot of them.

Jane was happy to re-explain.

"When Red John and his crew come in, seeing you tied up and secure will keep everyone calm. If, however, they come in to find the team drawn and ready, it will inevitably lead to a shoot-out, and from a personal standpoint, I don't want to be caught in the crossfire. This way, I build up some trust and then you three can take them by surprise, come out from hiding to do your cop thing and arrest them peacefully."

Everyone looked skeptical at this whole plan, but they trusted Jane in these matters, having been skeptical before and everything turned out well. On the other hand, they still had reason to be skeptical, because sometimes things _didn't_ go quite as he predicted, though usually they caught the bad guy in the end. Nothing was certain with Jane, but at least he was the devil they knew.

"What if Red John and his people come in, guns blazing, and decide to shoot you and Lisbon because you didn't go along with _their_ plan?" asked Van Pelt. "We won't have time to save you if we're in another room."

"They won't do that," said Jane confidently. "Red John _wants_ me to succeed. He wants me to kill Lisbon and join the Dark Side. Had he wanted me dead, he would have killed me long ago."

"But he doesn't care if Lisbon's dead," Rigsby pointed out. "No offense, Boss."

Jane didn't allow them to see how much this weakness in his plan worried him.

"You guys will be out here arresting them before that happens, I promise."

Jane's hand resting briefly on Lisbon's shoulder, offering what little reassurance he could do in front of the team. It was an unspoken agreement between them that they not show their new intimate involvement. It would certainly be the height of hypocrisy for Lisbon to be sleeping with another team member while Rigsby and Van Pelt had been forced to break up because of _their_ relationship. He was sure they'd figure out how to deal with it later, but for now, they both were very careful to seem normal.

"In the meantime," Jane continued on a brighter note, "Rigsby, would you mind shooting a hole in the arm of the couch?"

"What? Why?"

"If you recall, I said I was given one bullet to kill Lisbon. My explanation for why she's tied to a chair hinges on my seemingly unfortunate discharge of said bullet."

"Why don't _you_ do the shooting, then?" Rigsby asked.

"I might need that bullet to protect myself," he said, patting the gun in his suit coat pocket. "You guys get to have guns."

"We have more bullets," said Cho helpfully, a layer of suspicion in his voice that Jane tried hard to pretend he hadn't noticed.

"Just do it, Rigsby," Lisbon ordered, already tired of the entire back and forth about trying to explain Patrick Jane's reasoning. She could feel the tension headache that had started earlier verge on a full-blown migraine.

"But it's such a nice couch." At the multiple glares, he pulled out his sidearm. "All right, all right." While everyone covered their ears, Rigsby shot into the arm of the couch. Jane, however, risked his own hearing to cover Lisbon's with his two hands. He nodded in satisfaction at the smoking black hole that marred the white leather.

"Thanks, Wayne."

"Such a shame," murmured Rigsby.

Van Pelt stuffed the former booby trap items out of sight inside a few kitchen cabinets, while Jane retrieved a dish towel from one of the drawers. He rolled it carefully into a snakelike length before walking back to Lisbon.

"Now, the _piece de resistance_ ," he said almost gleefully. "Open your mouth, Teresa."

She looked up at him in warning. "No way."

"It will lend a touch of realism," he said, moving to stand behind her.

When she opened her mouth again in protest, he seized the moment to press the dish towel between her lips, tying it at the back of her head. It made an effective gag, though knowing her as he did, he could still understand what she was trying to say. Something along the lines of _Goddammit Jane_ , and _When I get out of this, I'm gonna kick your ass._

The team grinned at the murderous look she directed at Jane, until she bestowed it upon them as well. They immediately sobered.

"Don't worry about her," said Jane. "You'll thank me later."

"Someone's coming," said Cho from his station by a living room window blind. "It's a stretch limo."

Jane was sure that meant Red John was with them. His stomach did an anxious flip.

"Okay, guys, everyone to your hiding places," said Jane. "Give me a minute to get things under control, then I'm sure you'll know when to come out."

The trio scattered, and Jane waited impatiently near Lisbon, his hand briefly touching the top of her head. He felt her tension, saw the anxiety in her pleading green eyes.

"Everything will be all right," he told her calmly, though his own heart was pounding in fearful anticipation.

As planned, Lisbon closed her eyes and dropped her head forward, pretending to be out cold.

Much to Jane's disappointment, it was only Lorelei and Hulk at the door. She came in first, gun drawn, surprised to see Lisbon's captive state and Jane standing nearby, a cautious look on his face. He held the gun at his side.

Lorelei disarmed the alarm and moved further into the house, her security guy behind her with his own gun drawn.

"How did this alarm get turned back on?" asked Lorelei, befuddled. "We were alerted it had been turned off and on again."

"Your friend Earl paid us a visit," said Jane smoothly, though Cho had watched Earl enter the code earlier and had been the one to reset it to avoid suspicion.

Lorelei frowned. "That's interesting." Then she took on the elephant in the room.

"I see you both are still alive. What's with Agent Lisbon in full bondage here? Put down the gun, Patrick, by the way."

Jane pointed with his weapon to the nearby couch and the obvious bullet hole. "My gun is no longer loaded."

Lorelei's eyes widened. "Oh, I can't wait to hear this."

"When I tried to shoot Lisbon, she wrestled me for the gun. It went off, hitting the couch. I managed to knock her out with the butt of the gun, but I tied her up in case she woke up and caused other problems."

"Why didn't you just beat her to death?" asked Lorelei. She moved to Lisbon, picking up her head from her chest by the hair, examined her blank face critically a moment before dropping her head roughly. Jane's empty hand curled reflexively into an angry fist.

"I thought about it," he said, maintaining his reasonable tone. "But I just couldn't do it. I'm not that kind of man, Lorelei. Using a gun is one thing. Killing someone with my bare hands—" he shook his head glumly. "Look, I did what I could. Can't this be enough for Red John? We can just leave her here, turn off the air conditioner. She'll die of heat stroke in a day or two."

"I don't know, Jane. This is a loose end Red John would not want to leave in the wind. I'll just have to take care of her myself, and you'd better pray he believes your story or you'll—" She advance toward Lisbon, pointing her gun at Lisbon's head.

"Drop your weapons!" said the team, emerging from their hiding places, guns trained on Red John's minions from three directions.

In complete surprise, Lorelei and Hulk turned toward the interlopers.

"Do it now!" said Van Pelt. "Kick them away from you and lay flat on the floor, arms out."

"I gotta hand it to you, Patrick," said Lorelei, slowly complying with their orders. "You told me you were a conman, but I didn't listen."

"You knew what I was when you picked me up," said Jane, paraphrasing the parable. "And I knew you."

By now Lisbon had opened her eyes and was waiting impatiently for her team to handcuff their prisoners, then push them onto the couch.

She made a noise to remind them to untie her now, but Jane ignored her, suddenly ordering everyone to be silent. He thought he'd heard something; the low, steady drone of an engine. Cho noticed at the same time and went to the window.

"The car is still running," Cho said, lifting one of the blind slats. If someone was still in the limo, they'd have the car idling so the air conditioner could stay on.

Jane nodded, then went to stand in front of Lorelei, pointing his gun at her forehead, just as she had to Lisbon. "Is he out there?" he demanded. "Is he armed?"

Lorelei smirked. "Why don't you go out there and find out yourself?"

"I'll go," volunteered Cho.

"No. He sees anyone but me or Lorelei, and he'll either start shooting or drive away and we'll lose him."

Lisbon strained against her restraints, grunting in angry demand. Jane pointedly ignored her, and it was then she knew why he'd bound and gagged her. This had been his plan all along. He wanted Red John for himself, didn't want to hear her order her team to hold him back.

Van Pelt moved to untie Lisbon.

"No," said Jane. "Please. This way, you can let me do this without having heard orders to stop me."

"But—"

"He's right," said Cho, avoiding Lisbon's eyes at his betrayal. "Let him go."

"Cho," said Rigsby, glancing nervously at their furious boss.

"Red John killed his family," said Cho softly. "He has a right to do this. He killed some of our people too. This might be our only chance to really get him."

"But we've got these two to help us find him if he gets away," reasoned Van Pelt.

"Ha," said Lorelei. "You'll get nothing from us. Unlike you are with _your_ boss, we are completely loyal to ours."

"Oh, sweetheart," said Jane patronizingly. "I'll have you singing like a bird in no time, don't doubt me. But that might not be necessary if you guys let me go out there now," he said to his friends.

Jane met Cho's eyes, and a look of mutual understanding passed between them. Jane knew Cho could see how this could go if they merely went out there, shot up the vehicle and captured Red John. The serial killer was so adept at covering his tracks, that there would likely be no proof of who he really was. He could be back on the street within hours. And if they killed him, well, that would cheapen all that Jane had fought and suffered for in the past decade. Cho respected the law, but he respected honor more.

"Go," said Cho. "We'll cover you from here."

The other two looked from their captives to the struggling Lisbon, but they made no move to stop him. Jane strode over to Lisbon, then squatted before her and looked into her blazing green eyes. She shook her head violently at him, chomping at the bit, but he laid a cold hand on her knee, willing her to understand.

"I'm sorry Teresa," he whispered, so no one else could hear. "Love you."

Her muffled cries were desperate now, and she rocked the chair back and forth in a pitiful effort to get away. But without a backward glance, Jane went to the door. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the late afternoon heat, hands held high.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Lisbon sat in the chair she had willingly (mostly) sat in, the gag still firmly in place, she tried to calm herself down. It did no good to be mad at Jane or her team, mainly because fear was swiftly overtaking her anger. He was out there with Red John, and there was a pretty good possibility that Jane had used up the last of his nine lives.

She'd give up all of her own to be with him one last time, to feel his warm arms enfolding her, to feel his full lips on hers, his hands reverently sliding over her body.

His timing really sucked.

"What's happening?" she tried to say around the dishcloth, but her words came out garbled. Cho would have made a great dentist, however, for he seemed to understand her perfectly. He peered through the blind again, to give her a play-by-play.

"He's at the back window of the limo. He's knocking, but no one is answering. He's trying the door. It's locked. The windows are pretty dark. I doubt he can see if anyone is inside."

Lisbon glanced over at Lorelei, but her face was impassive, and she and the Hulk stared calmly into space, accepting of whatever their lot might be.

Rigsby and Van Pelt had gone out through the back door, gone round to the side of the house out of sight of the limo to lend cover.

"He's going to the driver's side," Cho continued. "It's unlocked. He's getting inside."

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph,_ Lisbon said to herself, fear gripping her heart like a vise. Then: _Please, watch over Jane._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hello, Patrick," said Red John from the dark back seat of the limousine. His voice was unnaturally raspy and high-pitched, a successful ploy to disguise his actual voice.

"Hey," Jane managed over his racing pulse. "How're you doing?" He peered in the rearview mirror, but only saw the dark outline of a man, wearing what looked to be a baseball cap. He couldn't make out any of his facial features.

"I was fine until about ten minutes ago. I must inform you, my gun is pointed at your back, so it would be wise if you remained facing forward, and don't try anything rash. Oh, and keep your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them."

"All right," said Jane, his voice just on the verge of breaking. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Where are my people?" asked the killer.

"Taking care of Lisbon's body."

"Don't lie to me, Patrick," Red John replied mildly. "You've obviously done something to them, and you've failed the task I set for you to kill Agent Lisbon. It really saddens me. I had such high hopes for you. For us together. We could have been friends. Imagine the life you could have led…"

"I'd rather not. All I've ever imagined was killing you."

Red John chuckled, the sound tingling coldly down his spine. Jane remembered that laugh too well.

"Your determination never ceases to amaze me; even when you shot the wrong me, you still have these delusions of grandeur."

"Ah, but you must admit, I had you, at least at first."

"Perhaps. But it's all moot now, isn't it? The question now is, what to do with you. I can't have you eliminating my people, or trying to manipulate me, no matter that you didn't succeed. Sadly, Patrick, I can't let you get away with this. You must be punished somehow."

As Red John spoke, Jane's mind was racing. It would be a calculated risk to move one hand to the gun in his suit coat pocket, especially with only one bullet and a gun at his back. The trick would be to try to keep Red John distracted so he could move his right hand quickly.

"You've already punished me, on several occasions," said Jane. "No one would think less of you if you let this one pass."

"Nice try, but I'm afraid I can't do that."

Then Jane suddenly felt the cold metal of Red John's gun pressed into the back of his neck.

"Don't make any sudden moves. Nice and slow, turn the limo around in the cul de sac and start driving until I tell you to stop."

When Jane's hand moved to put the limo in drive, his hand was briefly out of Red John's sight. If he was going to go for his gun, now might be the best time. He thought of Lisbon, tied up in the house, no doubt equal parts worried and furious with him. He thought of the comfort of having the team watching him right now, their weapons backing him up. If he left with Red John in the limo, they might not have time to get to their SUV, wait for the garage door to open, and catch up with him before they reached the freeway. The team would not know which direction they turned. Any security Jane had would be gone once he drove away in this limo. He couldn't give that up, for he didn't want to die on the side of the road somewhere, alone, without saying goodbye to Lisbon.

Steeling himself against the possible pain of a bullet burning into his back, Jane quickly reached for his gun.

 **A/N: Sorry to those of you who aren't fans of cliffies, but I admit to a certain perverse enjoyment of them, lol. Forgive me. Also, it was difficult putting Lisbon in the position of being manipulated by Jane, but this is the kind of crap he does when he is blinded by his desire for vengeance (leaving her on the side of the road comes to mind). In this story, he is still partly that man, I'm afraid. Thanks for reading. I'll try to not to leave you hanging too long.**


	9. Conclusion and Epilogue

A/N: Apologies for keeping you waiting so long. As most of you know, I'm a teacher, and school started for me last week so things have been pretty busy. Anyway, I am thankful for all of you who read and reviewed the last chapter. Now, here we are at the conclusion of this fic. It's felt really good to be back "home" with this fandom, and such a blessing to feel the love from you good people. So, thanks for that. Now, I hope you enjoy this conclusion. Hopefully I tied up all the loose ends and you feel satisfied by this reboot. Thanks again for giving this fic a chance, especially those new to my writing.

 **Chapter 9: Conclusion and Epilogue**

When the first muffled shot filled the hot desert evening, Rigsby and Van Pelt looked at each other, then took off toward the limo at a dead run. At the second shot, they were ducking at the rear of the vehicle, peeking up to try to see past the dark tinting of the windows. Without need for speech, the pair nodded to one another, communicating with eyes and gesture before proceeding slowly toward the front of the car, keeping their heads below the windows. Just as Van Pelt was reaching up to try to open the driver's side door where she knew Jane had been sitting, the door came open, and Jane fell out, Lorelei's gun clattering to the hot pavement beside him.

"Jane!" cried Van Pelt, for she was looking down at the red flower blossoming quickly on his right shoulder. "Jesus, he's hit," she called to Rigsby. She pulled Jane out of the way of the car up onto the sidewalk after kicking the door closed behind them.

"How many times?" called Rigsby.

She did a quick once over Jane's body.

"Don't you want to take me to dinner first?" said Jane groggily.

"He's only been shot once, that I can see," Van Pelt called to Rigsby, who was still ducking down on the other side of the car.

There had been two shots.

"Jane, did you shoot him?" asked Van Pelt.

"Yeah," said Jane, and he laid down on the hot sidewalk and closed his eyes.

Van Pelt put her hands on his wound, applying pressure to try to stop the bleeding.

Inside the house, Cho looked from a bleeding Jane on the sidewalk to Lisbon. For once, Lisbon knew by his expression that something was definitely wrong.

"Jane's down."

She stared at him in shock, and Cho took out his pocket knife and cut her free.

Without saying a word to him, she took off her gag and went to the kitchen table where they'd put the Earl's gun. Cho watched helplessly as she left with it. Someone had to stay inside with Lorelei and her henchman.

"Too bad about Patrick," said Lorelei from her place on the couch. "It didn't have to go this way."

"Shut up," said Cho, and watched the drama play out in the front of the house.

Lisbon kept low to the ground, unsure of what was happening, despite appearances and Cho's running narrative. All she knew was that Jane was lying still and pale on the sidewalk, and Van Pelt's hands were covered with the blood flowing out of his shoulder. But there was no time to see to him herself; Red John was still in that limo.

"We count to three, then we open the doors," ordered Lisbon.

"Okay," said Rigsby. "But I think they're locked."

Lisbon went to the driver's side door, opened it, then reached for the door lock, quickly unlocking the backseat doors before stepping back, her weapon aimed toward the back of the limo. It was awfully dark back there; no movement at all, the expected gunshots not mowing her down. Catching Rigsby's eye, she nodded, and at the same time, they each opened a back door, guns at the ready.

A man was slumped over, nearly lying on his side on the seat. His startling blue eyes were fixed and dark, blood from the hole over his heart slowly seeping through his white dress shirt. Lisbon gasped as recognition hit her. She met Rigsby's eyes across the expanse of the back seat.

"He's that sheriff from-from Napa County," she said, her voice shaky with shock and wonder. "McNeil, McDonald—"

"McAlister," said Jane, standing next to her now, his hand pressing his wadded up suit coat against his wound.

Van Pelt joined them at the door. "Red John was a sheriff? Oh God! I remember this guy." She shuddered. "Gave me the creeps."

"Good instincts, Grace," said Jane, feeling oddly envious. He'd felt uneasy around the sheriff, but never had he suspected McAlister was Red John. He should have listened to his own instincts, pursued the guy further. He stared into the dead man's blank eyes, willing the relief to course through his body, the pain of the loss of his family to ease. It didn't. And now it was exacerbated by the burning throb in his shoulder.

"Explains how he's gotten away with it," said Rigsby. "Someone in law enforcement is privy to information. Could fix things to his advantage…"

"I beat him at Rock, Paper, Scissors," said Jane, suddenly remembering, and then he laughed-one short burst of hysteria before he leaned into Lisbon and nearly brought both of them to their knees.

"I believe I'd like to see a doctor now," he said, and Lisbon and Van Pelt woke up from their momentary daze to hold Jane up.

"Open the garage door," said Lisbon to Rigsby. "We need to get him to the ER. I'll send someone from Vegas PD."

"Right, Boss."

As if they had come upon her wish, two competing sirens sounded in the distance, and the three CBI agents looked up to see a pair of squad cars turning off the highway, speeding onto their street.

"Darcy," muttered Jane by way of explanation. She had no doubt sent them when she'd gotten into calling range. Maybe Earl had suggested Red John might be showing up.

Lisbon nodded. "Well, that doesn't change _our_ plans any. Van Pelt, you'll drive."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm really sorry, Boss," said Van Pelt sheepishly from the driver's seat of the SUV. "I should have untied you."

"Yes," said Lisbon coldly from the backseat, "you should have."

Jane was laying with his head in her lap, a dish towel pressed over his wound. The Vegas officers had loaned her their first aid kit, and she'd taped him up for the ride, but blood was already seeping through the bandage. She was really concerned about his blood loss and the paleness of his skin, her worry competing as it often had over the years with her deep anger with the bastard.

She'd left Cho and Rigsby to deal with the fallout at the crime scene and to handle the transport of the prisoners, and the dead body, but she didn't feel the least bit sorry about it. She was pissed off with them too, and when she finally had a moment to sort things out, she'd think of a really good plan of vengeance of her own.

"Don't be too mad at them," said Jane, reading her mind.

She looked down into his blue-green eyes, clouded now with pain, and she frowned.

"Maybe I'll just take it all out on you," she said tightly, but her hand was brushing back a stray curl from his clammy forehead. To her horror, she felt her eyes water, and she blinked them away angrily. _Residual adrenalin_ , she told herself.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for my part in this," he said softly.

"An apology from you isn't worth much, Jane."

He grinned up at her, and she fought the urge to kiss him. Or maybe it would have felt better to punch him in the nose; it was a toss-up.

"Nevertheless, it's sincere. But you know why I did it; you would have tried to stop me."

"Yes, I would have." She sighed. "But I'm probably angrier at myself than I am at any of you. I should have known better than to let you tie me to that damn chair. I know you can't be trusted when it comes to Red John."

He couldn't argue with that.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, taking her hand. "I promise never to tie you to a chair again. Unless, of course, you ask me to."

Lisbon looked up in embarrassment at Van Pelt, meeting her startled eyes in the rearview mirror. Van Pelt's gaze skittered away and she turned on the radio to a soft rock station, a polite attempt to offer them a bit of privacy.

"Stop that," hissed Lisbon down at Jane. His grin widened, then faltered as a wave of pain shot from his shoulder. Lisbon winced as his hand tightened on hers.

"Shit," he gasped.

"We'll be there soon," she said, "hang on."

After a few minutes, he seemed to drift off, but Lisbon had a sudden, frantic fear that he wouldn't wake up again. She shifted beneath his head and his eyes opened slowly once more.

"I meant what I said," he whispered hoarsely.

"Shhh…I accept your apology, Jane."

"No," he said. "The other thing."

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly remembered what _the other thing_ was. The most important thing he'd ever said to her, and she'd somehow blocked it out. Maybe because it had been paired with one of his usual lame ass apologies. Her face grew warm, her eyes softening. He could have pretended he'd never said it, could have blamed it on the drama of the moment.

"That's just the blood loss talking." She was giving him an out, though her heart was tripping erratically.

He shook his head. "I wanted to make sure you knew I meant it, in case…"

"Shut the hell up," she said, tears falling unabated now. "You've just been shot in the shoulder. Same thing happened to me a year ago and I'm just fine."

"You never know," he said.

" _I_ know," she countered, though he was right. Anything could happen during a surgery. But for the second time in as many days, she didn't feel like believing in the logical, practical thing. "Now, shut up and rest."

And, Van Pelt be damned, Lisbon bent and kissed his cold forehead.

"Hey Teresa," he said groggily, as a drowsy warmth suffused him. "I'm free…"

This time, she couldn't wake him up again. "Jane?" He was so damn cold. She wrapped her arms around him, wishing she'd thought to bring his bloody jacket.

"Van Pelt, could you maybe step on it a little more." She must have been going 80 already, but she didn't argue.

"Yes, ma'am."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

While Jane was in surgery, Lisbon visited Earl, who was sitting up in a hospital bed. Wainwright was sitting in the room with him, his broken ankle propped on a chair. Darcy had just left for the crime scene, and Lisbon wasn't sorry she had missed her.

"Wanna see my stitches?" Earl asked dryly, sliding back his blanket to point to his bandaged thigh, just visible below his hospital gown.

She declined. "Your boss is dead," she announced, and Earl's face fell.

"If you mean Red John, I'm glad. And he's not my boss. How did it happen?"

Wainwright was looking on in keen interest.

"Jane shot him in self-defense."

"You sure about that?" asked Wainwright.

"Yes. Jane was shot too."

Lisbon recounted the events as she knew them, ignoring the niggling doubt Wainwright had planted in her mind. _Who had shot first in that limo?_ Maybe there were some things she didn't need to know.

"Jesus," said Earl. "He was a fuckin' sheriff?"

"Yeah. We worked with him before on a case in Napa. Couple of serial killers." Lisbon shook her head at the irony. "I can't believe we were so close to him."

"Guess Jane isn't as good at reading people as he claims to be," said Wainwright.

Lisbon's eyes grew cold, and it was all she could do not to tear into the younger man.

"That's not fair," Earl said, surprising Lisbon and Wainwright both. "Red John was a murdering psychopath. If he was in law enforcement, he fooled a lot of good people."

She turned grateful eyes on her one-time lover, and suddenly her doubts about him flew out the window. Wainwright frowned in annoyance.

"Well, at any rate, Lisbon, you and your whole team are on mandatory suspension until an independent investigation can clear you all."

"How are they going to do that, exactly? Red John probably had his fingers in every law enforcement agency in California. I've met some of his followers; it was like they were in a cult. This thing probably goes deeper than any of us could possibly have imagined, except maybe Jane."

"Well, it's not your concern at the moment, Lisbon. I'm leaving for Sacramento on the first flight tomorrow morning. I trust you and the others will make your own arrangements home. I'll be in touch." He rose, reaching for the crutches propped against Earl's bed. Lisbon didn't bother helping him.

When he'd gone from the room, Lisbon moved to Earl's side.

"Thanks for defending Jane like that," she said. "Especially since he's responsible for those stitches of yours."

"Oh, well, Wainwright's an asshole. Sorry about Jane though, truly. I hope he makes it through the surgery all right."

"Me too." She took Earl's hand. "And I'm sorry about your leg, and for suspecting you, and if we screwed anything up for you."

Earl smiled. "Don't worry about me. I've been doing my job. I'm glad that bastard is dead. I only wish I had been there to see it happen."

"No you don't. It was a mess. I have no idea how this is all going to get sorted out, how any of us can trust anyone now."

"You can trust me, Teresa," he said softly, and she smiled.

"I know. And I still owe you that dinner."

"Yes, you do. But I'm thinking Jane might have something to say about that."

She blushed. "Jane doesn't tell me who my _friends_ are."

"Aw," he said, smiling wistfully. "I've been friend zoned. That's okay, Teresa, as long as you're happy, I'll be happy for you. But if he ever gets you stuck in one of his booby traps, you know who you can call."

"Yes, I do. Thanks again, Earl. For everything." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Lobster," he said, and she pulled back, startled. "I deserve a huge lobster dinner for this. Oh, and a big ass juicy T-bone."

She grinned. "You certainly do."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was just as bad of a patient as he had ever been. He was grumpy and demanding and anxious to leave. To top that off, he had trouble keeping his hand (the one that was not in a sling) to himself whenever Lisbon was in the room, and she knew it was mainly because he was bored.

"Idle hands…" she admonished, when he'd reached for her after the nurse had checked his vitals. She stepped away a safe distance.

"Well if I could get the hell out of here, I wouldn't have to be so idle, would I?"

"You won't be able to use both hands for some time no matter where you are. Besides, I'm still pissed at you."

"No, you're not."

He watched her as she sat in the chair beneath the window of his hospital room, the sun glinting off the traces of red and gold in her hair. Despite his pain and confinement, the enormity of what he had done had finally sunk in, and he was finally feeling the relief he had longed for since his wife and daughter had been murdered. He had found them justice, and though he had once longed for the satisfaction of feeling Red John's life drain out beneath his hands, the result, he acknowledged, was much the same.

He was happier than he had been in years, and he was only a bad patient because he was anxious now for his life to begin, to emerge from the holding pattern he'd been stuck in for nearly a decade. He was in love with Teresa Lisbon, and though she hadn't yet voiced the sentiment herself, he was certain his feelings were returned. But she was a stubborn woman, his Lisbon.

She picked up a magazine she'd bought at the hospital gift shop, and pretended to read.

"Come here," he said, his voice low and seductive.

She didn't look up. "I don't think so. I wouldn't want to impede the healing process."

"Haven't you ever heard of sexual healing, Lisbon?"

She rolled her eyes, and was saved from further temptation by the arrival of the rest of her team. Rigsby and Van Pelt's faces were flushed and glowing, and even Cho had an amused glint in his eyes. Over the last few days her anger had dissipated, and she'd come to the grudging conclusion that the world was better off without Red John. Although the right thing under the law would have been to bring him in to face justice, she was glad they didn't have to face the torment of a long, drawn-out trial, or the possibility he would have been freed on a technicality or the jury snowed by expensive defense attorneys.

"What's up with you guys?" Lisbon asked. When she'd given them the news that they were all suspended, they'd all decided to stay a few more days in Vegas. None of them had had a vacation in a while.

Now, Van Pelt held out her left hand, a tasteful diamond set in white gold adorning her finger, alongside a simple matching wedding band. Rigsby wore a similar ring of his own.

"We visited a wedding chapel today," she announced trying to tamp down her excitement. She was failing miserably.

Jane grinned. "Congratulations!"

Lisbon smiled, and stood up to hug the happy couple. "Congratulations!"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," said Rigsby. "Well, not that I haven't thought of it every day for the last five years. But then there was Sarah and the baby, and well…you guys know the whole story. We're finally in a good place, and—"

"I approve," Lisbon interrupted, laughing. "You don't have to explain, really. We all get it. But you know what this means, don't you? One of you will have to leave the team." They hypocrisy of that statement hit her, and she avoided Jane's eyes.

"Or both of us will," said Van Pelt, her face falling.

"What?"

"We've heard rumors from friends back home in the CBI," explained Cho. "Looks like they might have to disband the agency, at least temporarily, until they can figure out how deeply Red John had infiltrated it."

They all went silent in the fallout from this bombshell.

"They're bringing in the FBI to begin an investigation," Cho added grimly.

"Why hasn't Wainwright called me about this?" said Lisbon.

"He's been reassigned," said Cho.

"Good God," said Lisbon, and sat heavily back in the high-backed chair, her elbows resting on her knees, hands covering her cheeks in dismay.

Jane looked around at his friends, hating that he was the cause of all this. He swallowed hard, his happiness dimming at the sad faces around him.

"No one blames you," said Cho perceptively. "At least not much."

"Well, they shouldn't at all," said Lisbon, dropping her hands. "Because of Jane, Red John is dead and his entire network can be exposed now. And God only knows how many more murders he's prevented."

"Lisbon—" Jane began.

"No, it's true. But I guess this is the only way, really, isn't it? A purge of some kind. I imagine we'll be next, even if we're cleared of all charges."

"What'll we do, Boss?" asked Rigsby.

She looked at the glum expressions and made her own face brighten. "We'll figure that out later. In the meantime, we have something to celebrate, don't we?"

Cho held up the bag he'd brought in with him in agreement. It contained a bottle of chilled champagne and five plastic wine glasses. He popped the cork over the bathroom sink and filled everyone's glass.

"To Wayne and Grace," Cho toasted. "It's about damn time."

Everyone laughed and drank, but after Lisbon's mothering caution, Jane only took a polite sip of his bubbly because of all the pain meds he was on. He grumbled, but was secretly delighted that she was taking care of him.

After the three younger people left, Jane reached for Lisbon's hand, and she let him take it. She even bent and kissed him, the happiness of the Rigsbys lifting her spirits. His left hand came up and slid into her hair, holding her head while he ardently ravaged her mouth. She pulled away, breathless, and Jane's heart was beating almost painfully.

"You gotta get me out of here," he said against her lips.

"You heard the doctor. One more day."

She squeezed his hand and sat on the edge of his bed, her lips still tingling, among other places.

"What _will_ you do," Jane asked, rubbing her fingers with his thumb. "Without the CBI?"

"Find another job, I guess. Maybe I'll get out of California, settle in Oregon or Washington State. It's so pretty and green up there. I could find a small town police department, where the biggest crime would be teenagers shoplifting at the local dollar store."

"Sounds like heaven," he said, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of her leaving. Would he be welcome to come with her? "Do I uh, fit in anywhere in this dream scenario?"

She smiled at his look of uncertainty. "You could be my consultant, put the screws to young Johnny, get him to turn over his stolen bubble gum. But I don't think that would be enough for you, not to mention a sad waste of your talent."

"I could say the same for you," he told her. "You're meant for bigger and better things, Teresa."

She shrugged. "Nothing's been decided yet. Nothing's even official with the CBI's status either, as far as I know."

They were quiet for a moment, each trying to absorb how much things had changed over the last several days. Red John was gone. Lisbon and the team's jobs may well be history too. And she and Jane…

"I've been thinking about tomorrow, when I get out of here. I have no place to go myself, except the lovely fleabag motel room that's paid up till the end of the month. You're welcome to join me."

She smirked. "Sounds tempting, but no thanks. I'm going back to Sacramento."

"Oh."

The silence this time was awkward, mainly because Lisbon was trying to summon the courage to invite him to go with her. She blushed, knew he must feel her pulse increase where his wrist rested against hers. She bravely met his eyes.

"Come home with me, Jane. Stay at my place until we figure out what's to become of our jobs." _What's to become of us._

"Okay," he said, happier than he ever dreamed he would be again. "I guess I could do that. Thanks."

"I do have one condition though," Lisbon said, her lips hovering above his.

"What's that?"

"If you ever decide to leave again—"

"I'll take you with me," he finished, and pulled her mouth down to his.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon drove Jane's Citroen back to Sacramento, Jane in the passenger seat, given that his arm was in a sling and he was still on pretty stiff pain meds. He was just as good a passenger in his own car as he was a patient in the hospital, so Lisbon did a lot of tongue biting, knowing this was his baby he'd temporarily relinquished control over. God only knew she would never let him drive her Mustang, so she empathized completely and only ground the gears once or twice.

Still on suspension, they had many days ahead to spend alone in Lisbon's apartment, and she was both excited and reticent about it. She'd never lived with a man before, and she was aware of how set in her ways she had become. She predicted many awkward moments, many arguments about toilet seat positions and blanket hogging. Jane too had been a decade alone, so he suspected their new situation might be too bittersweet to be enjoyable, that he really wasn't ready to live with a woman who wasn't his wife, no matter how temporary.

They were both wrong.

The moment they entered her apartment and set down their luggage in the foyer, he was kissing her breathless, fighting to hold her closer in spite of the sling and the painful pressure on his shoulder. There was nothing awkward about the way they gravitated down the short hall to her bedroom, how they shed their clothes as naturally as if they'd done it every day of their lives. They had to slow their movements considerably, however, to compensate for his injury, to allow Lisbon to help with the fine motor skills involved in unbuttoning slacks and sliding off a dress shirt. But Jane didn't mind the erotic sensation of Lisbon undressing him, especially when she followed her helping hands with sensual caresses and open mouthed kisses.

Finally, he lay gingerly on her bed, his right arm limp at his side, the large bandage hiding and protecting the healing bullet hole. Lisbon straddled him, feeling his obvious need beneath her.

"You sure about this?" she asked, looking skeptically at his shoulder.

He reached up his left hand to play with her hair where it rested just above her bare breast. His eyes found hers, dreamy with passion and adoration.

He smiled. "Just be gentle with me."

His thumb brushed over her nipple and she gasped, closing her eyes. He thrust his hips up against her, finding her slick and ready for him.

She wasn't quite as gentle as she should have been, but she didn't hear any complaints.

 **Epilogue**

It turned out, the rumors were true, and the CBI was dissolved until the FBI could track down every one of Red John's inside people. Lorelei was transported back to California, but the FBI didn't allow Jane to question her. He took the news better than Lisbon had expected.

"I killed Red John," he said. "I'm happy now to let the cops do the clean-up work."

It was official then: they were all out of a job.

There was no question that the Rigsbys would stay in California to be near Wayne's new baby, and they spoke of plans to start their own security business. If they stayed in law enforcement, they would be confronted everywhere with the rules about couples working together on the same team or unit, so going out on their own was a more logical option for them.

Cho came by the apartment for a visit, announcing plans of his own.

"I've applied to Quantico," he said.

Lisbon smiled, genuinely happy for him. "Good for you, Kimball. You'll make a great Fed, though it kinda seems like you're selling out," she teased. There had never been any love lost between the CBI and their belligerent older sister, and they had always complained when the FBI got involved in state business.

Cho shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em…"

They'd all been cleared of wrongdoing in the Vegas debacle, so the way was clear for Cho to embark on a more rewarding career. When he'd left, Jane put his good arm around Lisbon on her couch and drew her closer to his side.

"You could do the same thing, Teresa," he said softly.

"I'm too old to start the training."

"I think not, young Jedi," Jane said with a grin. "On the contrary, I'm betting a former state agent with your experience would get a waiver on the age requirement. I bet they're short on good people these days. You should at least try. You know you want to." He saw how her eyes had lit up with envy at Cho's announcement.

"I don't know." But her heart was thumping with excitement at the prospect.

"You can't win if you don't play."

She thought about the weeks in DC she would have to be away from him before she could be assigned a field office. And that was another thing. Was he serious about staying with her? What the hell did he want to do with his life now that everything had changed so much?

"Where does that leave you?" she asked him somewhat anxiously. "You haven't talked about what _you_ want." After all this time living for his wife and daughter's justice, he deserved to live for himself now.

He took her hand, turned on the couch to look at her. She'd noticed that his wedding ring had disappeared from his finger several days before, but neither of them had commented. That gesture alone had reassured her that he really had put his past behind him.

"Whither thou goest, Teresa, I mean it. I've just closed a door on my old life, and I am ready to move on. With you. I honestly don't care where we go, I just want to be with you. I can find something to occupy my time, don't worry about me. I'll find myself a project, or I'll finagle a new job working with you." He smiled. "I did it before, and look how great that worked out."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but there were also tears in her eyes.

"You wouldn't mind living in DC or wherever my new job takes me?"

"No." He kissed her then, his lips warm and reassuring as they moved over hers.

He released her after a few tender moments, sitting back to admire the fire he'd started in her eyes.

"I'm in love with you, and all of my many red devils have run from my heart, only to be replaced by the wonder that is you, Teresa. You're everything I want in this world. Just say the word, and I'll go and re-pack my bags."

She took a deep breath, felt her heart tremble with the words she had been afraid to say.

"I love you too," she whispered. "And I-I think I'm gonna go for it."

His blue-green gaze was suspiciously watery. "For the FBI?"

"For the FBI, sure, but you are my future now. For once in my life, I'm going for all of it, for everything I've ever wanted."

He brought her hand to his lips, felt a peaceful kind of hope settling in his heart.

"I'm in."

 **THE END**

 _Many Red Devils ran from my heart_

 _And out upon the page,_

 _They were so tiny_

 _The pen could mash them._

 _And many struggled in the ink._

 _It was strange_

 _To write in this red muck_

 _Of things from my heart._

 _~Stephen Crane_

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, and for all your support of this fic. Please look for me on Twitter for a fun writing announcement, coming soon.**


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